i 


PICTURESQUE  MAINE. 


WITH   DESCRIPTIONS  BY 

M.  F.  SWEETSER. 


PORTLAND : 
C  II  I  S  II  O  L  M     B  R  O  T  H  E  R  S. 


Copyright,  iSSo, 
By  HUGH  J.  CIIISHOLM. 


Electrotyped  nnJ  Printed  by  Rand,  Avery,  Ssr'  Co.,  Boston. 


"  Jf  thoic  art  worn  and  hard  beset 

With  sori'ows,  that  thou  woiddst  forget^ 

Jf  thou  wouldst  read  a  lesson  that  will  keep 

Thy  heart  from  fainting,  and  thy  soul  from  sleep. 

Go  to  the  woods  and  hills!    No  tears 

Dim  the  sweet  look  that  Nature  wears'' 

Longfellow. 


*'  What  is  most  striking  iti  the  Maine  wildeiiiess  is  the  continuousness  of  the 
forest,  with  fewer  open  internals  or  glades  than  you  had  ijnagined.  Except  the  few 
burnt-lands,  the  narrow  intervals  on  the  rivers,  the  bare  tops  of  the  high  mountains, 
and  the  lakes  and  streams,  the  forest  is  uninterrupted.  It  is  even  more  grim  and 
luild  than  you  had  anticipated,  —  a  damp  and  intricate  wilderness,  in  the  spring 
everywhere  wet  and  miry.  The  aspect  of  the  country,  indeed,  is  imiversally  stern 
and  savage,  excepting  the  distant  views  of  the  forest  from  hills,  and  the  lake  pros- 
pects, which  are  mild  and  civilizing  in  a  degree.  The  lakes  are  so?nething  which 
you  are  unprepared  for:  they  lie  up  so  high  exposed  to  the  light,  and  the  forest  is 
diminished  to  a  fine  fringe  on  their  edges,  with  here  and  there  a  blue  mountain, 
like  amethyst  jewels  set  around  some  jewel  of  the  first  water,  —  so  anterior,  so  supe- 
rior, to  all  the  changes  that  are  to  take  place  on  their  shores,  even  now  civil  and 
refined,  and  fair  as  they  can  ever  be.  These  are  not  the  artificial  forests  of  an 
English  king,  —  a  royal  presei-ve  merely.  Here  prevail  no  forest  laws  but  those  of 
nature.  The  aborigines  have  fiever  been  dispossessed,  nor  nature  disforested.  .  .  . 
What  a  place  to  live,  cMid  what  a  place  to  die  and  be  buried  in  I  There,  certainly, 
men  ivould  live  forever,  and  laugh  at  death  and  the  grave.''  Thoreau 

3 


"  TJie  rich,  warm,  red  blood,  is  the  triumph  of  the  Sea  ;  by  it  she  has  animated 
and  armed  with  mightiest  strength  her  giants,  so  much  mightier  than  mightiest 
giants  of  the  earth.  She  has  made  that  element,  and  she  can  re-make  you,  poor, 
pale,  drooping  flower.  She  abounds,  superabounds,  in  that  rich,  red  blood:  in  her 
child7'en  it  so  abounds  that  they  give  it  forth  to  eveiy  wind.  .  .  .  And  she  has  also, 
what  you  have  not,  a  superabundant  strength.  Her  breathing  gives  I  know  not 
ivhat  of  inspiring  excitement,  of  what  we  may  call  physical  heroism.  With  all  her 
violence,  the  gi'eat  generating  ele?nent  inspires  us  with  the  same  fieiy  vivacity,  the 
same  wild  love,  with  which  she  he?'self  palpitates.'" 

M.  Jules  Michelet. 


"  Nowhere  fairer,  sweeter,  rarer. 
Does  the  golden-locked  f-uit-bearer 

Th7'ough  his  painted  ivoodlands  stray, 
Than  where  hillside  oaks  and  beeches 
Ovei'look  the  long,  blue  reaches, 
Silver  coves  and  pebbled  beaches. 

And  green  isles  of  Casco  Bay  ; 

Nowhere  day,  for  delay, 
With  a  tenderer  look  beseeches, 

^  Let  me  with  my  charmed  earth  stay.'' 

On  the  grain-lands  of  the  mainlands 
Stands  the  serried  corn,  like  train-bands. 

Plume  and  pennon  rustling  gay  ; 
Out  at  sea,  the  islands  wooded, 
Silver  birches,  golden-hooded. 
Set  with  maples,  crimson-blooded, 

White  sea-foam  and  sand-hills  gray, 

Stretch  away,  far  away. 
Dim  and  dreamy,  over-brooded 

By  the  hazy  autumn  day." 

Whiitier. 


4 


CONTENTS. 


Introductory.  —  Picturesque  Maine  . 
tortlani)  ...... 

Old  Orchard  Beach    .       .       .  . 

l^OOTHIJAY  

Augusta  

Waterville  ..... 

]i.\N(i()R  ....... 

Mount  Desert  

Schooner  Head  .        .        .        .  . 

CiKEAt  Head  ..... 

The  Ovens  .  .  .  .  . 
M(X)sehead  Lake  .... 

Lewiston  

WiNTHROP  Pond  .... 
The  Rangeley  Lakes  .       .       .  • 

IvXRMINCrON  

Ra\oei.i:v  Lake  .        .        .  • 

Kennei}ago  Lake     .        .        .  • 

Cupsui'Tic  Lake  .        .       .  • 

Lake  Mooselucmaguniic  . 

The  Upper  Dam 

Lake  AViclokeneuacook  . 

Lake  Mollychunkamunk 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Portland. 

Old  Orchard  Beach. 
Old  Orchard  House. 

Samoset  House,  Mouse  Island,  Boothbay. 

Augusta. 

\Vati:rville. 

Bangor. 

]^angor  House. 

Mount  Desert  —  General  View. 
Grand  Central  Hotel,  Mount  Desert. 
Schooner  Head,  Mount  Desert. 
Great  Head,  Mount  Desert. 
The  Ovens,  Mount  Desert. 
The  Foot  of  Moosehead  Lake. 
Mount  Kineo,  from  Bh^ch  Point. 

RlI'OGENUS   r\VLLS,   LOOKING  EAST. 

MoxiE  Falls. 
Lewiston. 
Winthrop  Pond. 
Ivvrmington. 

Crosby's  Camp,  Rangeley  Lake. 
Kennebago  Lake,  Rangeli'Y  Lake. 

AZISCOHOS  AND  OBSERVATORY   MOUNTAINS,   RaNGELEY  LaKE. 


PICTURESQUE  MAINE. 


AINE,  the  Pine-Tree  State,  covers  an  area  of  about  thirty- 
two  thousand  square  miles,  nearly  half  of  the  soil  of  New 
England  ;  and  is  equal  in  size  to  Scotland  or  Ireland,  or  to 
Belgium  and  Holland  combined.  It  is  more  than  double 
the  size  of  Greece,  and  one-seventh  as  large  as  Texas.  A 
tenth  of  this  area  is  occupied  by  inland  lakes,  the  reser- 
voirs of  the  great  rivers  ;  and  nearly  two-thirds  is  still  primeval  forest, 
from  whose  timber  scores  of  cities  are  yet  to  be  built  throughout  the 
Atlantic  States.  It  is  in  this  noble  wilderness,  large  enough  to  ingulf 
States  and  princii)alitics,  that  the  abounding  natural  attractions  abide 
which  draw  myriads  of  visitors  each  returning  season. 

The  population  of  Maine  is  not  far  from  six  hundred  thousand  souls, 
dwelling  by  the  rivers,  in  the  belt  between  the  ocean  and  the  forest?  and 
subsisting  mainly  by  commerce  and  manufactures.  Swarming  from  this 
northern  hive,  like  their  Gothic  ancestors,  scores  of  thousands  of  enter- 
prising pioneers  have  migrated  to  the  far  West,  to  found  new  realms  in 
the  silent  heart  of  the  continent;  or  have  spread  through  the  elder 
Atlantic  States,  where  their  energy  and  determination  are  everywhere 
conspicuous.  There  are  a  few  manufacturing  cities,  like  Lewiston  and 
Biddeford,  prolific  in  cotton  cloths  and  other  useful  wares  ;  a  few  decadent 
ship-building  towns,  slowly  fading  into  the  reposeful  and  mildly  reproach- 
ful aspect  of  the  elder  Tuscan  cities  ;  a  hundred  obscure  ports,  sacred  to 
schooners  and  fishing-craft  ;  and  many  quiet  little  river-towns,  alongside 
the  broad  bright  streams  from  the  wilderness.  Back  of  these,  and  on  the 
highlands  between,  are  extensive  areas  devoted  to  farming,  where  dwin- 
dling settlements  pursue  the  most  ancient  of  human  avocations. 
^  9 


lO 


Picturesque  Maine. 


But  the  predominant  interest  of  Maine  is  maritime,  in  the  coasting- 
trade  and  the  fishing-fleet ;  and  the  line  of  the  shore,  whose  sinuosities 
extend  for  twenty-five  hundred  miles  (in  a  direct  distance  of  less  than 
three  hundred  miles),  affords  facilities  for  fisheries  only  second  in  magni- 
tude to  those  of  Massachusetts.  Every  Norwegian  "^hamlet  and  farm- 
neighborhood  possesses  its  ship  ;  every  Nova-Scotian  cove  has  its  name 
emblazoned  on  some  far-sailing  vessel ;  and  almost  every  family  on  the 
Maine  coast  owns  some  part  of  a  trim  little  schooner  or  brig,  familiar  with 
the  coast  from  Labrador  to  the  Carolinas,  and  has  a  kinsman  in  her  crew. 
The  fibre  of  the  Vikings  is  in  the  make-up  of  these  men  ;  and  they  still 
merit  the  glowing  eulogy  of  Burke  :  "  Whilst  we  follow  them  among  the 
tumbling  mountains  of  ice,  and  behold  them  penetrating  into  the  deepest 
frozen  recesses  of  Hudson's  Bay  and  Davis's  Straits,  —  whilst  we  are 
looking  for  them  beneath  the  Arctic  Circle,  —  we  hear  that  they  have 
pierced  into  the  opposite  regions  of  polar  cold ;  that  they  are  at  the 
antipodes,  and  engaged  under  the  frozen  serpent  of  the  South." 

Nine  hundred  years  ago  the  Norsemen,  sailing  far  southward  from 
brumal  Iceland,  came  upon  this  coast,  on  their  adventurous  way  to  the 
vineyards  of  Narragansett.  The  Crusades  were  then  far  in  the  future  ; 
and  Charlemagne  had  been  dead  hardly  more  than  a  hundred  years. 
Nearly  four  centuries  ago,  and  before  the  Reformation,  the  fishermen  of 
Biscay  began  to  frequent  the  bays  of  Maine  ;  and  the  Cabots  sailed  these 
narrow  seas,  sighting  the  vast  littoral  solitudes.  A  hundred  years  later, 
Gosnold  and  Bring  explored  the  coast,  and  De  Monts  and  Champlain  took 
possession  in  the  name  of  France,  raising  the  Bourbon  lilies  and  the  cross 
at  various  points. 

Soon  English  colonies  dotted  the  silent  coast,  —  Popham's  Anglicans 
at  the  mouth  of  the  Kennebec,  Vines's  traders  at  Saco,  Gorges  at  York; 
and  the  great  contest  began  which  ever  attends  the  settlement  of  Anglo- 
Saxons  in  barbarian  lands,  from  Plymouth  to  the  Yellowstone.  For 
nearly  eighty  years,  long  and  bitter  Indian  wars  ensued,  by  which  the 
colonists  suffered  decimation,  and  most  of  their  towns  were  destroyed. 
The  savages  received  aid  and  direction  in  their  attacks  from  French  offi- 
cers and  armaments,  and  for  three  generations  the  settlements  were  in  a 
state  of  siege.  Appalling  massacres  ensued,  at  Arrowsic,  Black  Point, 
Casco,  and  Dover;  and  terrible  retributions  followed,  until  the  aborigines 
were  finally  driven  back  through  the  wilderness  to  the  St.  Lawrence  Val- 


Picturesque  Maine. 


I 


ley.  A  few  hundred  were  suffered  to  remain,  and  their  descendants  still 
dwell  on  the  Penobscot  islands  and  by  Passamaquoddy  Bay. 

One  of  the  most  intelligent  of  the  old  pioneers  told  Thoreau  that 
the  lumbermen  still  found,  here  and  there  in  the  remotest  forests,  tall 
oaken  crosses,  which  were  set  up  by  the  first  Roman-Catholic  missionaries, 
journeying  from  Quebec  to  evangelize  the  wild  tribes  of  interior  Maine. 
These  lonely  symbols  of  faith  must  be  the  oldest  monuments  of  Euro- 
pean civilization  in  the  State,  for  the  dauntless  black-robed  chiefs" 
established  missions  here  not  far  from  1610.  Along  the  margin  of  the 
sea,  on  high  promontories  or  surf-beaten  islands,  are  remnants  of  for- 
gotten fortresses  and  villages,  Norse.  French,  Butch,  or  English,  min- 
gled with  mementos  of  an  older  civilization,  whose  source  the  antiquaries 
cannot  even  conjecture. 

One  by  one  the  ancient  royal  grants  of  land  east  of  the  Piscataqua 
were  bought  up  by  Massachusetts,. or  fell  to  her  by  default,  until  at  last 
the  ]^ay  Province  governed  the  entire  domain,  from  the  year  1686  until 
i(S20,  when  the  District  of  Maine  was  elevated  to  the  rank  of  a  State,  the 
twenty-third  in  the  order  of  seniority  of  American  Commonwealths,  and 
(except  Florida)  the  youngest  of  the  Atlantic  States.  Since  that  time,  in 
spite  of  its  great  contributions  to  the  Western  exodus,  the  population  of 
Maincr  has  more  than  doubled.  Between  i860  and  1870  there  was  a 
marked  decrease  in  the  number  of  inhabitants,  owing  in  part  to  the  civil 
war,  and  in  part  to  Western  emigration;  but  between  1870  and  1880 
there  was  a  notable  increase  in  the  population,  and  also  in  the  valuation 
of  the  State,  which  is  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  billion  dollars. 

The  fantastic  folk-lore  of  the  Acadians  has  invested  the  eastern  prov- 
inces and  the  lower  St.  Lawrence  with  a  wild  and  legendary  charm  ;  and 
the  masterly  conceptions  of  the  urban  poets  and  historians  of  Massachu- 
setts have  made  the  lower  Atlantic  coasts  of  New  England,  from  Nan- 
tucket to  the  Shoals,  a  classic  strand.  The  scenery  of  the  shores  of. 
Maine  has  not  been  thus  endued  with  the  imperishable  charm  of  romance, 
and  its  countless  legends  and  poetic  episodes  of  history  still  await  the 
touch  of  refined  and  patriotic  genius.  Here  and  there  the  sweet  music 
of  minstrelsy  lingers  along  the  coast,  where  Whittier  attuned  his  melo- 
dies to  the  wild  sea-breeze  at  Harpswell  Neck  or  Castine  Point,  or  to  the 
sighing  of  the  pines  of  Norridgewock  ;  or  where  Longfellow's  plaintive 
threnody  for  his  lost  youth  still  haunts  the  bright  reaches  of  Portland 


12 


Picturesqite  Maine. 


harbor  and  town.  _  Nor  should  we  forget  the  delicate  and  subtle  charac- 
terization of  a  Maine  hamlet  and  the  social  canonization  of  a  Maine  dam- 
sel, as  recorded  by  Howells  in  his  "  Lady  of  the  Aroostook  ;  "  or  the 
exquisite  sweetness  of  "The  Pearl  of  Orr's  Island,"  wherein  Mrs.  Stovve 
portrays,  with  rare  skill  and  insight,  the  life  of  the  dwellers  on  Casco 
Bay,  infused  with  quiet  but  intense  passion,  and  filled  with  the  spirit  of 
the  sea.  No  better  handbook  can  be  found  for  the  sentimental  traveller 
to  the  eastward  than  that  which  portrays  the  character  and  surroundings 
of  the  little  Orr's  Island  community,  so  like  to  hundreds  of  others  be- 
tween Cape  Neddick  and  Lubec. 

The  libellous  Knowles  sent  word  to  the  London  clubs,  many  years 
ago,  that  the  climate  of  Nova  Scotia  consisted  of  nine  months  of  winter, 
and  three  months  of  fog ;  and,  as  late  as  the  Jacksonian  epoch,  it  was 
generally  believed  that  Maine  enjoyed  six  months  of  winter,  and  six 
months  of  fog.  There  are  fogs,  sometimes,  on  this  coast,  which  for 
solidity  and  endurance  can  fairly  rival  any  that  ever  enwrapped  the  land 
of  Scott  and  Bruce  ;  but  they  surely  banish  the  dog-days,  which  are  not 
found  beyond  Monhegan.  Da  Costa  exults,  strangely  enough,  in  saying, 
"At  Mount  Desert  we  have  an  opportunity  of  studying  every  variety  of 
foggy  display."  They  yet  tell  of  the  old  captain,  who  drove  his  jack-knife 
into  a  fog-bank  while  dropping  down  Penobscot  Bay,  and,  on  his  return 
from  a  three-years'  voyage  in  the  Pacific,  found  it  still  sticking  in  the 
same  place.  But,  happily,  the  Gulf-Stream  exhalations  are  only  occasional 
visitors  on  this  serene  coast.  The  average  annual  temperature  is  432^°, 
varying  from  102°  to  30°  below  zero,  with  sixty-four  rainy  days,  and 
thirty  snowy  days,  in  a  year.  The  summers  are  usually  temperate  and 
mild,  and  afford  admirable  days  for  travelling,  especially  in  the  yachts  on 
the  blue  sea,  or  the  canoes  on  the  upper  rivers. 

Yet  Maine  was  for  many  decades  a  terra  incognita  among  pleasure-trav- 
ellers. In  his  work  on  American  scenery,  published  at  London  forty  years 
ago,  N.  P.  Willis  naively  wrote  that  "Very  much  the  same  sort  of  incredu- 
lity with  which  one  reads  a  traveller's  account  of  the  deliciousness  of  the 
Russian  winter  comes  over  him  when  it  is  proposed  to  him  to  admire  any 
thing  so  near  the  cradle  of  the  east  wind  as  Penobscot  River."  Lowell, 
in  1854,  spoke  of  Maine  as  the  "mystery  of  the  Orient  ;"  and  Thoreau 
regarded  it  chiefly  as  the  guardian  of  a  wilderness  more  interesting  than 
any  other  this  side  of  the  great  prairies.    Ten  years  ago,  however,  so  ripe 


Picturesque  Maine. 


3 


a  scholar  and  so  experienced  a  traveller  as  Mr.  Da  Costa  ventured  to 
speak  thus  :  "We  hear  much  of  the  coast-scenery  of  Cornwall,  the  Isle  of 
W'ii^ht,  and  the  Mediterranean  ;  but  still  we  do  not  fear  to  place  in  com- 
parison the  varied  and  romantic  beauties  of  the  coast  of  Maine.  The 
entire  seaboard  is  fretted  and  fringed  in  the  most  remarkable  manner, 
forming  a  long-drawn  labyrinth  of  capes,  bays,  headlands,  and  isles.  The 
mingling  of  land  and  water  is  indeed  admirable.  Here  a  cape,  clad  in 
l)ine  greenery,  extends  out  into  the  sea,  coquettishly  encircling  a  great 
field  of  blue  waves  ;  there  a  bold  headland,  with  its  outlying  drongs,  meets 
and  buffets  the  billows  with  catapultic  force  ;  here  the  bright  flood  runs 
merrily  up  into  the  land,  the  hills  stepping  down  to  its  borders,  mirroring 
their  outlines,  as  in  a  glass  ;  there  a  hundred  isles  are  sown,  like  sparkling 
emeralds,  in  the  summer  sea." 

As  the  more  adventurous  of  our  summer-tourists  began  to  weary  of  the 
artificial  attractions  of  Saratoga  and  Newport,  they  w^nt  farther  afield, 
atid  discovered  this  land  of  the  mountain,  the  forest,  and  the  flood,  with 
its  rich  endowment  of  natural  charms  and  untrodden  solitudes.  New 
routes  were  established  to  facilitate  their  wanderings;  and  great  hotels 
arose  on  many  a  frowning  headland,  and  by  many  a  highland  lake.  The 
hopeless  wilderness  became  a  park,  a  preserve  of  game  ;  the  iron-bound 
coast  was  visited  by  fleets  of  dainty  yachts.  Like  Nice,  like  Venice,  the 
ancient  maritime  towns,  from  which  the  sceptre  of  commercial  power  had 
been  wrung,  became  the  pleasaunces  of  thousands  of  travellers  from  more 
prosperous  regions;  and  the  revenues  which  no  longer  came  by  the  way 
of  the  sea  were  freely  given  in  virtue  of  the  salubrity  of  the  northern  air. 

Rarely  is  the  luxury  of  travelling  so  efficiently  aided  by  the  appliances 
of  modern  art  as  it  now  is  within  the  borders  of  Maine,  where  the  most 
comfortable  means  of  access  are  prepared  for  all  notable  points.  Three 
first-class  railroads  connect  Portland  with  the  great  cities  to  the  south- 
ward, and  two  others  give  approach  to  the  White  Mountains  and  Canada. 
The  Maine  Central  Railway  covers  the  inhabited  part  of  the  State  with 
a  net-work  of  well-constructed  lines,  centring  at  Portland  and  Bangor, 
with  branches  and  tributary  routes  reaching  out  in  every  direction,  —  to 
1-armington,  close  to  the  Rangeley  Lakes  ;  Skowhegan,  amid  the  beau- 
ties of  "he  Upper  Kennebec  ;  Dexter,  in  the  region  of  Moosehead  Lake  ; 
l^ath.  the  point  ot  departure  for  a  score  of  fascinating  marine  excursions, 
including  l^oc.thbay,  Pemaquid,  and  Mount  Desert;  and  Belfast,  at  the 


Picturesque  Maine. 


head  of  the  picturesque  Penobscot  Bay.  This  great  corporation,  stretching 
its  Briarean  arms  from  Portland  harbor  to  the  Penobscot,  and  into  the 
northern  forest  and  along  the  maritime  peninsulas,  is  managed  with  Eng- 
lish precision  and  order  and  American  enterprise  and  intelligence,  so  that 
the  public  convenience  is  the  law  of  the  road,  and  the  word  accident "  is 
eliminated  from  the  vocabulary.  President  George  E.  B.  Jackson  super- 
vises this  complicated  system  of  routes,  and  guards  its  financial  security  ; 
Superintendent  Payson  Tucker  is  the  vigilant  executive  officer,  insuring 
safety  and  convenience  on  all  the  lines;  and  Mr.  F.  E.  Boothby  is  the 
general  ticket-agent,  ever  forming  new  combinations  of  routes,  and  devis- 
ing new  attractions  for  travellers.  Eastward  from  Bangor  the  European 
and  North-American  Railway  leads  across  the  wilderness  to  near  the  State 
line,  from  whence  the  St.  John  and  Maine  Railway  extends  to  the  political 
and  commercial  capitals  of  New  Brunswick  ;  and  other  lines  diverge  from 
Bangor  also  towards  Moosehead  Lake,  and  down  the  Penobscot  to  Bucks- 
port.  Between  the  ports  and  islands  along  the  coast,  and  upon  the  inland 
lakes,  scores  of  steamboats  ply  throughout  the  summer,  bearing  thousands 
of  pilgrims  of  pleasure  to  beaches  *and  fishing-grounds,  where  the  air  is 
perfumed  by  the  exhalations  of  the  forests,  or  charged  with  the  invigorat- 
ing coolness  of  the  sea. 


PORTLAND. 


IE  chief  city  of  Maine,  with  its  forty  thousand  inhabit- 
ants, its  varied  manufactures,  and  its  large  and  increasing 
oceanic  and  inland  commerce,  arose  from  a  little  trading- 
post  planted  (in  1632)  on  the  Indian  domain  of  Machi- 
gonne,  which  was  leased  to  the  traders  by  Gorges,  the 
royal  grantee  of  Maine,  for  two  thousand  years,  and,  as 
the  deed  ran,  "from  now  and  forever  henceforth  to  be  called  or  known  by 
the  name  of  Stogumvwry  By  1675  the  town  was  at  the  height  of  pros- 
perity, when  the  first  Indian  war  began,  and  thirty-four  inhabitants  were^ 
killed  or  captured  here  in  a  single  day;  wherefore,  when  the  humiliating 
peace  of  Casco  was  signed,  the  harassed  burghers  erected  a  defensive 
work  called  Fort  Loyal  on  the  present  site  of  the  Grand-Trunk  station. 
Thirteen  years  later,  when  the  village  had  six  hundred  inhabitants,  the 
second  Indian  war  broke  out,  and  a  fleet  bearing  the  veteran  Major 
Church  and  a  large  force  of  Massachusetts  volunteers  arrived  the  day 
before  the  town  was  assailed  by  four  hundred  Indian  warriors.  After  a 
long  and  bloody  battle  between  the  volunteers  and  the  savages,  just  back 
of  the  Cove,  the  latter  gave  way  and  abandoned  the  field.  The  next  year 
a  force  of  five  hundred  "half-Frenchified  Indians  and  half-Indianized 
French  "  (as  Cotton  Mather  relates)  beleaguered  the  town,  nearly  exter- 
minated a  sortying  company  on  Munjoy  Hill,  and  formally  besieged 
Fort  Loyal,  which  was  forced  to  surrender  five  days  later,  after  all  the 
houses  had  been  burnt,  and  most  of  the  garrison  wounded.  The  site  of 
Portland  remained  desolate  and  solitary  from  this  disastrous  clay  until 
after  the  peace  of  Utrecht,  nearly  twenty-five  years  later,  when  it  was 
rebuilt  by  disbanded  soldiers  from  the  adjacent  forts.     In  1746  new 


i6 


Picturesque  Maine. 


attacks  were  made  by  the  red  foresters,  and  the  warlike  citizens  fortified 
their  streets,  erected  a  battery  on  the  site  of  Fort  Gorges  to  repel  the 
Duke  d'Anville's  French  Armada,  and  sent  fifty  soldiers  to  the  siege  of 
Louisburg.  The  town  now  bore  the  name  of  Falmouth,  and  had  a  large 
trade  in  fish  and  lumber  and  West-India  goods,  besides  being  one  of  the 
main  depots  of  masts  for  the  British  Navy.  There  were  about  two  thou- 
sand inhabitants  here,  of  good  rebel  blood  and  martial  ancestry,  on  that 
fair  October  morning  of  1775,  when  Capt.  Mowatt  entered  the  harbor 
with  five  British  naval  vessels,  and  gave  the  people  two  hours  to  leave  the 
doomed  town.  For  eight  hours  the  men-of-war  poured  balls  and  bombs 
upon  Falmouth,  and  boat-loads  of  marines  landed  and  fired  the  buildings, 
until  three-fourths  of  the  place  was  destroyed,  and  hundreds  of  families 
were  homeless.  After  this  annihilation  by  artillery,  Falmouth  became  a 
nest  of  privateers  and  a  militar)^  post,  under  the  command  of  Gen.  Frye, 
the  founder  of  Fryeburg.  For  many  a  century  thereafter  peace  dwelt  on 
these  shores,  and  industry  was  highly  rewarded.  On  the  night  of  July  4, 
1866,  however,  a  fire  broke  out  in  the  business-quarter  of  the  city,  which 
burned  fiercely  for  sixteen  hours,  destroying  every  thing  in  the  most 
densely  built  district,  and  involving  a  loss  of  ten  million  dollars.  But 
this  phoenix  of  cities  has  once  more  risen  from  the  ashes,  with  fairer  pro- 
portions .and  more  stately  buildings,  and  is  bravely  adorning  herself  for 
the  next  episode  in  her  history. 

A  peninsula,  composed  of  two  graceful  hills  and  a  high  valley  between, 
fronting  on  the  neighboring  ocean  and  the  lovely  labyrinths  of  Casco 
Bay,  terraced  by  long  and  broken  lines  of  houses,  and  crowned  by  groups 
of  symmetrical  spires  and  domes,  flanked  by  broad  and  high-placed  park- 
ways which  look  on  the  mountains  and  the  sea,  fringed  by  the  masts  of 
commercial  fleets,  —  such  is  Portland,  the  Forest  City,  the  metropolis  of 
Maine,  the  winter-port  of  Canada.  On  the  one  side  are  wide  and  em- 
bowered streets,  bordered  by  double  lines  of  venerable  trees  and  still 
more  venerable  mansions  ;  on  the  other,  solidly  built  mercantile  streets, 
with  curving  blocks  of  brick,  stone,  and  iron,  in  that  light  and  airy 
American  architecture  which  Ruskin  so  fiercely  condemns.  An  ethereal 
white-marble  building,  with  Corinthian  colonnades,  like  a  temple  of  the 
age  of  Pericles,  serves  as  the  post-oflice  ;  and  a  graceful  structure  of 
granite,  seated  by  the  water-side,  gives  royal  shelter  to  the  collectors  of 
customs  for  this  northern  Tyre.    The  city  fathers  meet  in  a  stately  build- 


Portland, 


17 


ing  of  Nova-Scotia  stone,  larger  than  the  Guild  Hall  of  London,  and 
made  thus  spacious  not  without  the  hope  (now  dispelled)  that  it  might 
become  the  Capitol  of  Maine.  This  monument  of  civic  pride  cost  nearly 
two-thirds  of  a  million  ;  and  is  supplemented  by  many  other  municipal 
luxuries,  such  as  the  aqueduct  from  Lake  Sebago,  seventeen  miles  dis- 
tant, with  the  purest  lake-water  in  the  world ;  and  the  great  railroad 
through  the  White-Mountain  Notch,  for  whose  construction  the  city 
advanced  its  credit  for  a  formidable  amount.  Another  distinction  which 
Portland  enjoys  over  other  cities  of  her  size  is  that  she  has  no  college, 
although  well  provided  with  museums  and  libraries,  and  various  literary 
and  fraternal  associations.  The  numerous  churches  culminate  in  the 
large  and  all-including  Romanist  Cathedral,  and,  by  oblique  succession,  in 
the  snug  and  aristocratic  Anglican  Cathedral. 

Next  to  the  palace  erected  many  years  ago  for  his  residence  by  Com- 
modore Preble,  the  hero  of  the  Tripoli  wars,  and  now  used  as  the  Preble 
House,  stands  a  building  which  will  probably  be  looked  upon  with  more 
interest,  fifty  )'ears  from  now,  than  any  other  in  the  Poorest  City,  for 
within  its  walls  long  dwelt  Henry  \V.  Longfellow,  who  was  born,  in  the 
year  1807,  in  the  ancient  house  now  standing  at  the  corner  of  P^ore  and 
Hancock  Streets.  After  that  august  name,  how  little  appear  the  other 
illustrious  Portlanders,  the  naval  heroes  of  the  Preble  family;  or  Neal 
Dow,  the  crotchety  reformer  ;  or  exceedingly  quaint  old  John  Neal  ;  or 
Bishop  Southgate,  of  Constantinople,  z';//><'7;7//^//'j"  iufideliuin ;  or  "Fanny 
PYtu  ;"  or  even  the  now  obsolete  N.  P.  Willis. 

Minijoy  Hill  derives  its  name  from  its  first  owner,  a  Mountjoy  of 
Devonshire,  and  justifies  its  etymology  to  whoexer  ascends  the  queer  old 
tower  on  its  summit,  on  a  clear  summer  day,  and  looks  out  over  the  mag- 
nificent prospect  which  extends  for  scores  of  leagues  on  every  side,  and 
is  made  minutely  definite  by  the  aid  of  a  swinging  telescope.  On  one 
side  is  the  entire  range  of  the  White  Mountains,  with  their  various  peaks 
easily  recognizable,  and  the  dark  outlines  of  their  ravines  quite  distin- 
guishable ;  and  on  the  other  side  the  dark  blue  ocean,  the  maritime 
suburbs,  and  the  bewitching  groups  of  islands  which  seem  perpetually 
engaged  in  a  dance  of  beauty  on  the  waters  of  Casco  Iby.  Nearer  at 
hand  is  the  narrow  harbor,  with  its  three  unformidable  but  picturesque 
forts,  and  the  tall  light-houses  on  the  tip  of  Cape  Elizabeth. 

As  a  centre  of  excursions,  no  Atlantic  city  can  equal  this  bright  and 


i8 


Picturesque  Maine. 


breezy  queen  of  Casco  Bay,  with  her  numerous  sea-Hnes,  to  New  York, 
Boston,  and  St.  John,  and  to  Rockland,  Bangor,  Mount  Desert,  and  the 
beautiful  islands  of  Casco  Bay  and  the  harbor,  dotted  with  summer-hotels 
and  surrounded  by  the  choicest  marine  scenery.  On  the  landward  side, 
railroads  pass  southward  to  a  score  of  famous  beaches,  qnd  north-west 
to  the  fairest  villages  of  the  White  Mountains,  Fryeburg  and  North 
Conway  on  the  Saco,  or  Bethel  and  Gorham  on  the  Androscoggin,  or  to 
the  Arcadian  beauties  of  Lake  Sebago,  only  an  hour  from  the  city, 
through  the  ancient  rural  towns  adjacent.  Eastward  and  northward  run 
the  tracks  and  branches  of  the  Maine  Central  Railway,  leading  to  the 
Rangeley  and  Moosehead  Lakes,  the  bays  and  beaches  of  Eastern  Maine 
and  Mount  Desert,  the  ports  on  the  sea,  the  cities  on  the  great  rivers,  and 
the  Maritime  Provinces. 

No  city,  except  Constantinople  or  Naples,  has  more  beautiful  marine 
suburbs,  especially  up  Casco  Bay,  where  the  Thousand  Islands  of  the  St. 
Lawrence  are  duplicated  amid  the  nobler  currents  of "  the  great  ocean. 
So  narrow  are  the  straits,  that  they  are  often  overshadowed  by  the  maple 
and  oak  trees  growing  on  the  islands  ;  and  again  broader  vistas  are  ter- 
minated by  kaleidoscopic  groups  of  bouquet-like  isles,  spreading  widely  at 
the  top  from  narrow  and  massive  bases.  A  voyage  up  the  bay,  to  classic 
Harpswell,  either  in  yacht  or  steamer,  is  filled  with  the  poetry  of  romantic 
scenery,  and  stimulates  the  imagination  with  a  variety  of  the  most  pleas- 
ing pictures.  Grand  marine  scenery  is  found  also  on  Cushing's  Island,  in 
front  of  the  city,  and  at  Cape  Elizabeth,  near  the  f^yuous  Portland  Light 
and  the  batteries  which  command  the  outer  roads. 

There  are  nearly  one  hundred  and  fifty  islands  in  the  bay,  with  scores 
of  fair  peninsulas,  and  many  a  deep  and  sequestered  cove,  leading  by 
sandy  beaches  to  bright  and  grassy  glades,  whose  only  inhabitants  are 
melodious  birds,  free  from  fatal  intrusion,  and  singing  the  whole  day  long. 
The  glory  of  the  isles  is  in  their  luxuriant  and  varied  foliage,  which  ri^es 
from  the  water's  edge  in  mound-like  swells  of  verdure,  the  perennial  green 
of  the  pine  and  fir,  the  vivid  tints  of  the  oak  and  beech,  and  the  graceful 
forms  of  the  maples,  which  change  in  autumn  into  such  brilliant  scarlet 
that  the  islands  seem  to  be  breaking  into  flames.  Among  these  extend 
the  water-ways,  delicious  coverts  under  the  trees,  nooks  between  mimic 
continents,  clear  channels  of  sea-water  insinuated  into  the  fringed-out 
mainland,  until  the  scene  assumes  the  similitude  of  a  rural  Venice,  whose 


Po7'iland. 


19 


<;cnii  are  the  weird  herons  who  f,^ave  its  name  (in  the  Indian  tongue)  to 
the  bay ;  and  whose  domes  and  towers  are  the  bare  hill-tops  and  rugged 
erags  whieh  overlook  the  ocean  and  the  distant  White  Mountains. 

A  little  farther  down  the  coast  is  Scarborough  Beach,  famous  for  its 
clams  and  game-birds,  and  entertaining  the  travelling  world  in  several 
hotels  and  boarding-houses. 

Between  Scarborough  and  Cape  Elizabeth  is  Richmond  Island,  lying, 
just  off-shore,  and  covering  two  hundred  acres  of  land.  It  was  named 
probably  for  the  Duke  of  Richmond,  a  member  of  the  council  of  Plymouth, 
and  received  its  first  white  settler  in  1628,  two  years  before  Boston  was 
founded  ;  but  he  and  his  companions  were  killed  by  the  Indians,  three 
years  later,  and  their  buildings  were  burned.  A  stone  pot  of  gold  and 
silver  coins  and  jewelry,  which  was  buried  at  this  time,  was  accidentally 
unearthed  in  1855.  It  was  a  Massachusetts  man-of-war  that  pounced  on 
the  hostile  Indians,  and  gave  them  a  condign  punishment;  and  the  island 
was  occupied  by  Plymouth  (P^ngland)  merchants  as  a  trading-post,  with 
numerous  colonists,  an  P^piscopal  church,  and  a  sliipyard  where  the 
RicJiDiond  and  other  vessels  were  built.  Ik'aver-skins,  fish,  and  pipe- 
staves  were  exported  in  large  fleets  ;  and  cargoes  of  PLnglish  supplies 
were  returned,  with  *  merry-making  ship-loads  of  Spanish  and  Madeira 
wine.  IHemish  and  Fayal  ships  also  visited  the  port  ;  and  many  a  well- 
laden  vessel  sailed  thence  direct  to  Spain.  In  1676,  the  Saco  Indians, 
under  Mogg  Megone,  captured  the  island  and  a  vessel  in  the  harbor,  with 
all  on  board  ;  and,  the  following  year,  the  former  maritime  port  had  sunk 
so  low  that  it  was  sold  for  ten  pounds.  Portland  had  drawn  all  its  com- 
merce away. 

What  Loch  Katrine  is  to  Glasgow,  and  St.  Mary's  Loch  to  Edinburgh, 
and  the  streams  of  the  Sabine  Hills  to  Rome,  Lake  Sebago  is  to  Portland, 
the  source  whence  artificially-built  rivers  flow  downward  for  leagues,  to 
gush  forth  in  refreshment  in  the  urban  houses  and  streets.  And  Sebago 
Ts  only  less  beautiful  than  Katrine,  with  its  broad  area  of  fourteen  by 
eleven  miles,  its  fair  islands,  and  its  environment  of  mountains.  The 
gallant  Macgregors  surrounded  Katrine  with  the  glamour  of  legend,  and 
Sir  Walter  Scott  celebrated  its  charms  in  many  a  glowing  stanza;  but  the 
American  lake  taught  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  many  a  weird  fancy,  while 
the  years  of  his  vouth  were  passing  on  its  shores;  and  the  more  melodi- 
ous harps  of  Longfellow  and  Whittier  have  sounded  its  praises  in  flowing 
numbers.     If  there  is  advantage,  it  rests  with  Sebago. 


20 


Picturesque  Maine. 


It  is  but  little  more  than  a  half-hour  by  train  from  Portland  to  this 
highland  lake  ;  and  the  steaiWr  traverses  its  whole  length,  and  then  winds 
for  two  leagues  through  theJfciciously  labyrinthine  and  convoluted  Songo 
River,  emerging  first  into  the  Bay  of  Naples,  and  then  into  the  Winder- 
mere-like  expanse  of  Long  Pond,  Where  rural  hamlets  stud  the  long-drawn 
shores.  To  the  northward,  surrounded  by  many  a  notable  mountain,  is 
the  birth-place  of  Artemus  Ward,  the  prince  of  droll  fellows  ;  and  to  the 
west,  beyond  busy  Bridgton,  swells  the  long  rampart  of  Mount  Pleasant, 
crowned  by  a  large  white  hotel,  and  looking  into  the  very  heart  of  the 
White  Mountains. 

Beyond  Sebago  Lake,  the  railroad  passes  across  to  the  Saco  River, 
which  it  follows  up  by  the  ancient  Wadsworth  mansion,  where  Longfellow 
passed  so  many  of  his  boyhood's  holidays,  in  the  home  of  his  mother's 
father;  and  then  looks  down  on  the  white  and  glistening  Great  Falls  of 
the  Saco.  Farther  out  is  the  lovely  village  of  Fryeburg,  near  the  ground 
where  Lovewell's  Rangers  were  all  but  annihilated  by  the  Pequawket 
Indians,  a  century  and  a  half  ago,  — 

*'  What  time  the  noble  Lovewell  came, 
With  fifty  men  from  Dunstable, 
The  cruel  Pequa'tt  tribe  to  tame,  ^ 
With  arms  and  bloodshed  terrible." 

*'The  fairest  town  on  the  stream  of  the  Saco"  still  remains  in  the  same 
quiet  provincial  dignity  which  it  enjoyed  eighty  years  ago,  when  Daniel 
Webster  taught  its  academy  ;  and  the  same  huge  old  trees  rise  over  the 
fair  meadows,  and  nod  in  the  breezes  which  come  out  of  the  adjacent 
defiles  of  the  White  Hills. 

Seventy  miles  from  Portland,  on  the  route  to  Canada,  the  Grand 
Trunk  Railway,  is  the  fine  old  village  of  Bethel,  on  the  meadows  of 
the  upper  Androscoggin,  and  near  the  picturesque  highland  scenery 
of  the  Grafton  Notch.  The  route  thither  leads  through  several  interest- 
ing and  decadent  towns  of  Western  Maine,  skirting  Casco  Bay,  and  passing 
the  Indian-scourged  fields  of  North  Yarmouth,  the  ancient  border-fortress 
of  New  Gloucester,  the  aristocratic  little  county  capital  of  Paris  Hill,  and 
the  fair  scenery  of  Bryant's  Pond.  Bethel  has  long  been  a  favorite  resort 
of  visitors  to  the  White  Mountains,  which  fill  all  the  western  sky  with 
their  rugged  domes  and  spires,  and  are  richly  contrasted  by  the  emerald 
meadows  about  the  village,  and  the  tranquil  blue  stream  of  the  Andros- 
coo^o^in. 


\ 


OLD-ORCHARD  BEACH. 


0-^\    /ctfRj]  H E  cities  of  Biddeford  and  Saco,  near  the  month  of  the 
Saco  River,  fairest  of  White-Mountain  streams,  are  rich  in 


possessing  very  notable  and  famous  marine  scenery  ;  the 
one  liaving  the  summer-hotels  of  Saco  Pool  between  it  and 
sea,  and  the  other  being  endowed  with  the  unrivalled 
sands  of  Old-Orchard  Beach,  the  largest  and  most  popular 
seaside  resort  east  of  Hampton  and  Rye. 

Since  Capt.  Martin  Bring  entered  the  Saco  River,  in  1603,  with  his 
adventurous  fleet,  and  Capt.  John  Smith  and  Richard  Vines  successively 
explored  the  river  and  adjacent  sht)rcs,  and  the  Bideford  men  from  the 
home  of  Sir  Amyas  Leigh  began  to  pour  down  on  these  fair  coasts, 
and  founded  a  new  l^iddeford,  what  changes  have  time  and  destiny 
wrought !  Bonython,  the  half-savage  and  outlawed  Sagamore  of  Saco, 
and  the  villain  of  Whittier's  poem  of  "  Mogg  Megone,"  was  the  first 
owner  of  these  beach-lands  ;  and  one  of  his  neighbors  was  the  careful  old 
farmer,  Thomas  Rogers,  who  cleared  broad  acres  and  planted  many  fruit- 
trees  and  vineyards  ;  insomuch  that  his  estate  became  very  noteworthy  on 
a  coast  given  uj)  to  fisheries,  and  was  called  "  Rogers's  Garden  "  on  the 
ancient  maps.  One  grouj)  of  his  spray-sprinkled  apple-trees  remained  for 
a  century  and  a  half,  resembling  Dante's  wood  of  human  souls,  in  their 
distorted  and  tormented  aspect,  and  winning  for  the  adjacent  sands  the 
name  of  Old  Orchard  Beach.  \n  King  Philip's  War,  this  valiant  pomicul- 
tural  Rogers  repulsed  an  attack  of  Lulians  from  his  house,  and  killed 
divers  of  ihem  ;  but.  a  little  later,  a  company  of  soldiers  was  ambuscaded 
on  the  be;ich,  and  (h'iven  to  the  shelter  of  a  ledge  of  rocks,  far  below  the 
hiiih-tide  line.     Here,  with  the  inexorable  sea  advancing  behind  them,  and 


2  2  Picturesque  Maine. 


hundreds  of  merciless  savages  in  front,  they  kept  up  an  unequal  battle, 
and  inflicted  on  the  Indians  a  severe  loss  in  killed  and  wounded.  But  no 
valor  nor  discipline  would  have  availed  them,  had  not  the  heavy  and  rapid 
firing  drawn  to  their  aid  the  garrison  of  Saco,  on  whose  approach  the  red 
warriors  fled. 

The  rude  log-hut  erected  in  1654  by  Henry  Waddock,  to  serve  as  a 
tavern  and  ordinary,  and  from  which  the  landlord  and  his  family  were 
swept  away  to  a  long  Canadian  captivity  by  Pequawket  Indians,  in  1688, 
was  the  precursor  of  more  than  thirty  summer-hotels  now  occupying  the 
beach,  and  competent  to  shelter  four  thousand  persons  at  once.  The 
movement  to  the  shore  began  nearly  two  centuries  ago,  if  not  even  earlier, 
when  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  country-side  held  firmly  to  a  belief  that 
whoever  entered  the  sea  on  a  certain  sacred  day  late  in  June  would  be 
cured  of  all  physical  ailments, — as  if  some  Bethesda  angel  had  endowed 
the  waters  with  healing  power.  Thousands  upon  thousands  of  citizens 
and  farmers  came  hither  on  that  day,  from  a  radius  of  forty  miles,  in  all 
manner  of  carts  and  wagons,  carriages  and  pillion-saddles,  and  sought 
relief  from  the  harvest-labors,  in  the  flashing  breakers. 

The  beach  is  indeed  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  impressive  on  the 
New-England  coast,  curving  in  a  broad  arc  of  a  circle,  nine  miles  long, 
smooth  and  solid,  and  sloping  so  gently  seaward  that  at  low-tide  it  affords 
a  magnificent  drive-way  hundreds  of  feet  wide,  with  the  deep  blue  ocean 
booming  in  on  one  side,  and  lines  of  imposing  hotels  and  cottages  on  the 
other.  The  two  scenes  are  highly  antithetical,  the  majestic  sublimity  of 
nature  on  the  one  side,  the  prettiness  of  watering-place  art  on  the  other  ; 
and  the  propinquity  of  the  contrasting  views  adds  great  force  to  their 
opposition.  Along  the  sands  hundreds  of  carriages  roll  almost  noiselessly, 
from  the  shay  of  the  village  doctor  and  the  hay-rick  of  the  up-country 
farmer  to  the  phaeton  of  Miss  Culture  and  the  clarence  of  Mr.  Knicker- 
bocker ;  and  countless  groups  of  saunterers  watch  the  vessels  in  the 
offing,  or  criticise  the  passing  show  of  Vanity  Fair,  or  vicariously  enjoy 
the  bracing  sports  of  the  bathers  who  dot  all  the  inner  surf-lines.  From 
time  to  time  a  whistle,  deep-toned  enough,  but  sounding  strangely  arti- 
ficial and  peevish  beside  the  undying  ocean-symphony,  announces  that  a 
railway-train  has  arrived  from  Portland,  fifteen  miles  or  half  an  hour 
away,  or  perchance  from  Boston,  a  hundred  miles  to  the  south-west,  and 
is  running  along  the  beach  close  to  the  high-water  line.    When  one  tires 


Boothbay. 


23 


of  the  roar  of  the  surf,  as  even  Glaucus  might  once  in  a  while,  there  are 
the  beautiful  dells  of  Fern  Park,  inland,  with  their  myriads  of  flowers;  the 
shadowy  depths  of  the  Ross  Woods,  whose  dim  evergreen  aisles  reverber- 
ate the  chants  and  carols  of  countless  thrushes  and  robins;  and  the 
Camp-inecting  Ground,  where  urban  Methodists  conduct  their  feasts  of 
tabernacles,  summering  in  tents  and  cottages.  There  is  also  a  new  rail- 
road line  leading  along  the  beach  from  the  Boston  and  Maine  station 
down  towards  the  mouth  of  the  Saco,  and  giving  facilities  for  the  easiest 
riding  over  the  upper  levels  of  the  strand. 

The  Old-Orchard  House  is  the  chief  of  all  the  beach-hotels,  and  rises 
on  the  crest  of  an  eminence  which  overlooks  the  sea  and  the  open  country 
inland.  Here  five  hundred  people  may  be  found  during  the  season,  enjoy- 
ing manifold  luxuries,  and  garnering  up  strength  to  meet  the  demands  of 
our  electric  American  life.  Mr.  E.  C.  Staples,  the  proprietor  of  this 
great  hotel,  has  seen  most  astonishing  changes  here  since  that  day,  nearly 
half  a  century  ago,  when  a  few  pioneer-tourists  induced  him  to  take  them 
to  board  in  the  old  Staples  farmhouse  near  the  beach. 

Below  Saco  Ppol,  a  few  miles,  is  the  rocky  promontory  of  Cape  Arun- 
del, with  its  great  summer-hotel  ;  and  then  come  the  beaches  of  Wells 
and  Ogunquit,  the  resort  of  thousands  of  visitors  every  summer.  The 
wonderfully  diversified  strand  of  ancient  York,  now  the  finest  of  beaches, 
now  woody  points  and  rocky  cliffs,  studded  with  several  hotels  and  scores 
of  cottages,  extends  thence  to  Portsmouth,  with  Mount  Agamenticus  a 
little  way  inland,  visible  for  many  leagues  off  the  coast,  like  a  huge  blue 
dome  ;  and  the  Isles  of  Shoals,  most  of  which  belong  to  Maine,  and  are 
of  her  choicest  scenic  jewels,  are  but  a  few  miles  off-shore. 


BOOTHBAY. 

Eastward  from  Bath  extend  the  deeply  scalloped  shores  of  Lincoln 
County,  with  the  Knox  and  Lincoln  Railroad  striking  directly  across, 
connecting  the  heads  of  navigation,  and  fringed  by  long  stage-routes  to 
the  north  and  south.  Trim  little  steamboats  daily  descend  the  river  from 
I^ath,  passing  through  a  succession  of  beautiful  marine  scenery,  the  sea, 


24 


Picturesque  Maine. 


the  islands,  and  by  many  a  quaint  old  hamlet,  on  the  way  to  the  interesting 
maritime  village  of  Boothbay,  nine  miles  from  a  railroad  spike,  and  look- 
ing out  upon  the  ocean  between  the  islands  which  shelter  its  noble  har- 
bor. It  was  settled  in  the  same  year  as  Boston,  but  the  enemy  utterly 
destroyed  the  town  fifty  years  later.  The  British  Government  intended 
to  establish  a  navy-yard  here,  had  not  the  Revolution  prevented,  and  left 
it  to  become  a  fishing-village,  with  later  claims  as  a  quiet  and  satisfying 
summer-resort. 

Ocean  Point  and  Capitol  Island  have  their  cottages  and  camps,  and 
other  localities  in  the  vicinity  are  utilized  as  cities  of  refuge  in  the  heats 
of  summer;  but  the  jewels  of  the  harbor,  the  Atlantides  of  these  blue 
waters,  are  Mouse  Island  and  Squirrel  Island,  close  to  Boothbay,  and  yet 
so  fronted  seaward  that  the  roll  of  the  surge  never  ceases  upon  their 
rugged  shores.  There  the  murmuring  groves  of  pine-trees  are  threaded 
with  rambling  paths,  leading  ©ut  to  mimic  cliffs  and  rippling  coves,  or 
debouching  upon  lawns  which  reach  to  the  water,  or  penetrating  to  quiet 
dells  where  the  salty  flavor  of  the  sea  air  mingles  with  the  wildwood  per- 
fume of  crushed  pine-needles  and  variegated  mosses. 

It  is  only  fifteen  years  since  these  charming  islands  became  known  as 
summer  haunts,  and  the  people  of  the  Androscoggin  and  Kennebec  towns 
began  to  occupy  them.  Already  fully  eighty  thousand  dollars  has  been 
spent  on  Mouse  Island,  where  there  is  a  large  and  comfortable  hotel,  the 
Samoset  House  ;  and  on  Squirrel  Island  a  hundred  cottages  have  been 
erected,  with  a  chapel  and  a  well-stocked  reading-room.  Year  by  year 
the  constituency  of  the  islands  represents  a  wider  domain,  and  the  de- 
scendants of  the  Puritans  and  the  Knickerbockers  have  found  out  these 
remote  shores,  and  here  seek  sweet  and  contented  rest. 

Every  traveller  who  is  interested  in  the  romance  of  hisfory  should 
bring  hither  that  quaint  book,  Sewall's  Ancient  Dominions  of  Maine," 
and  read  of  the  mysterious  ancient  city  of  Norumbega,  near  these  shores, 
and  of  Damariscove,  which,  the  old  Douai  chronicler  of  1607  says,  is 
an  island  very  fit  for  fishing.  And  the  region  that  goeth  along  the  sea 
doth  abound  in  fish."  It  was  early  in  1605  that  Capt.  Weymouth  sailed 
frorrf  England  in  the  ship  Archhngcl,  under  Lord  Arundel's  patronage, 
and  made  his  first  landing  and  discovery  at  Monhegan,  which  he  named 
St.  George's  Isle.  Afterwards  he  explored  Squirrel  Island  and  the  neigh- 
borhood with  a  detachment  of  musketeers  and  pikemen,  and  seized  sev- 


Boothbay, 

eral  of  the  proud  and  warlike  natives,  with  whom  he  made  sail  to  Eno-hnd 
Such  was  the  bland  introduction  of  Christian  men  to  pagan  abori^^ines' 
and  not  many  decades  were  required  to  annihilate  the  luckless  tribes  of 
red  aborigines  who  from  time  immemorial  had  feasted  on  the  abundance 
of  the  eastern  seas. 

The  excursions  from  these  islands  are  all  by  water,  over  the  level 
blue  plains  which  reach  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  and  up  the  azure-floored 
glens  which  re-enter  the  land —  - that  very  gallant  river,  very  deepe  "  as 
the  first  explorers  characterized  the  Kennebec;  or  the  many-armed  Sheep- 
scot  River,  penetrating  to  decaying  old  Wiscnsset ;  or  straight  out  to  sea, 
to  the  distant  blue  isle  of  Monhegan  ;  or  through  the  westward  islands  to 
Scguin,  where  a  famous  light-house  crowns  an  insulated  and  fortress-like 
rock. 

Monhegan  lies  like  an  azure  cloud  low  down  on  the  seaward  horizon, 
and  is  approached  by  yachtsmen  in  quest  of  the  deep-sea  fishing-grounds. 
As  early  as  1622  there  was  a  considerable  settlement  here,  of  traders  and 
fisher-folk,  safe  from  the  attacks  of  the  Indians  who  roamed  the  mainland. 
Samoset,  the  aboriginal  lord  of  the  island  and  the  adjacent  main,  was 
seized  and  carried  to  England  by  Capt.  Hunt,  and  afterwards  returned, 
and  electrified  the  Pilgrims  at  Plymouth  by  walking  into  their  village  and 
giving  them  an  I^iglish  salutation.  For  many  years  Monhegan  was  the 
most  imj)ortant  fishing-station  in  the  East,  until  the  storm  of  King 
Philip's  War,  breaking  all  along  the  coast,  and  off  shore  and  inland, 
caused  its  dep()i)ulati()n.  The  island  is  nearly  a  league  long  by  a  mile 
wide,  with  a  bold  shore  and  high  bluffs,  a  good  harbor,  a  small  fleet,  and 
a  thousand  acres  of  arable  land.  The  population  is  less  than  a  hundred 
and  fifty,  supporting  four  shops,  a  school,  an  Advent  church-society,  a 
list  of  officials,  and  a  summer  boarding-house.  This  quaint  little  com- 
munity is  twelve  miles  from  the  nearest  point  of  the  mainland,  straight 
out  in  the  open  sea,  and  near  the  track  of  the  International  steamboats, 
whose  course  it  guides  by  a  tall  revolving  light.  It  is  a  refreshing  novelty 
of  experience  to  stand  on  the  high  grassy  deck  of  this  fast-anchored  ship 
of  earth,  and  hear  the  breakers  roar  against  its  rocky  bulwarks,  while  the 
blue  Nci)tunian  domain  extends  on  three  sides  to  the  unbroken  and 
remote  horizon,  and  on  the  fourth  is  bounded  by  the  low  lines  of  the 
Maine  coast. 

Pemaquid  is  a  few  hours'  sail  eastward  from  Boothbay,  and  although 


26 


Picturesque  Maine. 


now  but  an  open  field,  covered  with  faint  ruins  and  crumbling  bastions, 
it  possesses  more  interest  to  the  antiquarian  than  any  other  point  on  this 
coast.  Here  was  the  centre  of  those  combats  of  a  hundred  and  fifty 
years,  in  which  the  mayflowers  of  Massachusetts  and  the  roses  of  Eng- 
land uprooted  the  pale  lilies  of  France  from  the  rugged  soil  of  New 
England.  It  was  in  1605  that  Capt.  Weymouth,  sailing  these  western 
seas,  landed  at  Pemaquid,  and  carried  off  certain  of  the  fierce  Wawenock 
Indians  who  then  held  all  these  peninsular  domains.  Twenty-five  years 
later,  in  the  same  year  in  which  Boston  was  founded,  a  small  fort  was 
erected  here,  which  Dixey  Bull,  the  pirate  chief,  afterwards  boldly  defied, 
and  cut  out  all  the  vessels  in  the  harbor.  The  district  was  erected  into  a 
Ducal  State"  a  few  years  later,  and  made  an  appanage  of  the  Duke  of 
York,  thereafter  growing  so  rapidly  that  in  1674,  when  Fort  Charles  was 
built,  on  the  point,  and  the  Dutch  immigrants  settled  near,  it  was  called 
the  metropolis  of  New  England.  But  ere  many  months  had  passed,  the 
inland  Indians,  justly  exasperated  at  many  insults,  swept  down  through 
the  three  paved  streets  of  the  village,  and  over  the  fort,  and  utterly  de- 
stroyed the  place,  while  such  of  the  inhabitants  as  escaped  the  first  onset 
fled  in  boats  to  Monhegan,  far  out  to  sea.  Again  re-occupied,  it  was  again 
destroyed  by  the  implacable  savages  ;  until  Sir  William  Phips  came  hither 
with  a  great  fleet,  and  caused  the  massive  stone  walls  of  Fort  William 
Henry  to  be  built,  and  garnished  with  eighteen  pieces  of  artillery.  This 
was  then  the  most  powerful  fortress  in  America,  and  soon  beat  off  an 
attack  of  French  frigates.  But  in  1696  the  valiant  Admiral  Iberville 
sailed  into  the  harbor  with  a  strong  army  of  French  regulars,  Micmac 
Indians  from  Nova  Scotia,  and  Tarratines  under  Baron  de  St.  Castin,  and 
opened  such  a  terrible  bombardment  from  his  men-of-war  and  shore- 
batteries  that  breaches  were  soon  made  in  the  walls  of  the  fort,  and  the 
garrison  and  citizens  surrendered  and  were  carried  into  captivity.  But 
new  fleets  from  the  southward  brought  fresh  relays  of  settlers  ;  and  in 
1730  Col.  Dunbar,  the  pragmatical  old  surveyor  of  the  King's  woods  in 
America,  built  the  strong  defences  of  Fort  Frederick  on  this  site,  which 
repulsed  two  French  naval  attacks,  long  after  the  doughty  Dunbar  had 
been  transferred  to  the  government  of  the  remote  island  of  St.  Helena. 

In  181 3  the  British  brig  Boxer,  mischievously  cruising  between 
Pemaquid  and  Monhegan,  encountered  the  American  brig  Enterprise^ 
and  bore  down  upon  her  with  roaring  batteries,  and  colors  nailed  to  the 


Augusta. 


27 


mast.  Within  less  than  an  liour,  the  Boxer  was  so  badly  shattered  by 
the  Yankee  artillery  that  she  fired  a  gun  to  leev,Aard,  and  surrendered. 
Burroughs  and  Blythe,  the  two  captains  of  the  opposing  vessels,  were 
both  killed  in  the  action,  and  were  buried,  with  great  pomp  and  solemnity, 
side  by  side  in  the  cemetery  at  Portland,  where  their  remains  still  rest. 
During  the  progress  of  the  battle,  the  adjacent  shores  were  crowded  with 
spectators,  who  saw  the  two  ships  wrapped  in  white  smoke,  through  which 
leaped  the  red  flashes  of  their  guns  ;  and  a  few  venerable  men  can  still 
say,  with  Longfellow,  — 

"  I  remember  the  sea-fight  far  away, 
How  it  thundered  o'er  the  tide!" 

A  year  later,  the  frigate  Maidstone  anchored  off  Pemaquid,  and 
sent  in  three  hundred  men  to  destroy  the  place.  But  the  yeomen 
gathered  quickly,  and  opened  a  deadly  fire  upon  the  barges,  from  the 
coverts  of  the  rocks,  inflicting  such  formidable  loss  that  the  enemy  retired 
in  confusion,  and  the  commander  of  the  frigate  was  dismissed  from  the 
service.  The  great  war-ship  Bulwark,  74,  and  other  formidable  monsters 
of  the  deep,  often  visited  these  shores  ;  but  were  hotly  received  by  the 
militia-men,  who  sometimes  extended  their  patrols  to  blue  water,  and 
captured  the  saucy  Halifa.x  privateers,  which  were  annihilating  the  coast- 
ing-fleet of  New  England. 


AUGUSTA. 

TiiK  bright  little  capital  of  the  State  of  Maine  occupies  a  beautiful  and 
advantageous  situation  at  the  head  of  navigation  on  the  Kennebec,  where 
the  great  Kennebec  Dam  stores  up  a  valuable  water-power,  and  the  Maine 
Central  Railway  crosses  the  river  on  a  graceful  iron  bridge.  Among  its 
public  buildings  are  the  State  Insane  Asylum,  a  picturesque  and  costly 
granite  structure  ;  the  United-States  Arsenal,  surrounded  with  park-like 
-rounds,  which  are  kept  with  military  neatness;  and  the  State  'House,  an 
Imposing  edifice  of  white  granite,  standing  on  a  high  hill,  and  enshrining 
in  its  rotunda  the  portraits  of  the  ancient  and  modern  governors,  and  the 
tattered  banners  which  tlie  veteran  troops  of  the  State  brought  home  in 


28 


Picturesque  Maine. 


triumph  from  the  battle-fields  of  the  great  civil  war.  The  summit  of  the 
dome  commands  an  inspiring  view  down  the  long  reaches  of  the  silvery 
Kennebec,  and  over  the  nestling  villages  which  dot  the  hill-country  for 
many  a  league.  It  is  but  a  few  months  since  this  great  Doric  temple  of 
justice  was  converted  into  a  castle,  sheltering  battalions  of  armed  soldiery 
in  bivouac,  and  echoing  the  roll  of  bickering  drums  ;  when  for  a  time  it 
seemed  that  the  methods  of  the  French  coup  d'etat,  or  the  Mexican  pro- 
mmciamento,  were  to  be  projected  across  the  constitutional  government  of 
a  Puritan  State. 

The  Cushnoe  Indians,  the  aboriginal  lords  of  these  graceful  hills  and 
sunny  glens,  devastated  the  first  settlements  made  here  in  1650  by  the 
pale-faces,  and  destroyed  the  stone  fortress  which  was  built  to  defend 
them.  In  1754  the  formidable  walls  and  towers  of  Fort  Western  were 
erected  on  this  site ;  and  here  the  heroic  little  army  under  Benedict 
Arnold  rested  briefly  while  marching  through  the  wilderness  to  be  shat- 
tered against  the  frowning  citadel  of  Quebec.  Cradled  amid  disaster,  and 
twice  destroyed  by  a  merciless  foe,  the  town  has  always  fearlessly  rallied 
to  new  and  higher  life  and  hope;  and  now  the  blue  river  runs  peacefully 
between  the  crowded  urban  hills,  on  which  eight  thousand  citizens  exem- 
plify the  noble  vigor  of  the  Pine-Tree  State, — 

"  Land  of  the  forest  and  the  flood." 

A  little  way  down  the  river  are  the  quiet  old  cities  of  Hallowell  and 
Gardiner,  perpetuating  the  names  of  their  first  proprietors,  and  comforta- 
bly supported  by  quarrying  granite  from  the  hills,  and  ice  from  the  river. 
As  John  Neal  quaintly  says  :  "Our  blossoming  is  granite  and  ice,  —  the 
fruitage  is  gold."  Farther  down  is  the  decadent  old  maritime  city  of 
Bath,  where  fleets  of  the  stateliest  ships  were  built  in  the  halcyon  days 
of  American  commerce,  before  our  flag  had  been  swept  from  the  seas  by 
Anglo-Confederate  cruisers,  and  the  legislation  of  fresh-water  senators. 
The  village  of  Brunswick  is  to  the  westward,  embowering  in  its  pine- 
groves  the  venerable  halls  of  Bowdoin  College,  sacred  as  the  Alma  Mater 
of  the  two  greatest  masters  of  American  prose  and  poetry,  —  Nathaniel 
Hawthorne  and  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 

About  the  mouth  of  the  Kennebec,  a  series  of  long  peninsulas  and 
islands  project  into  the  ocean,  forming  beautiful  marine  scenery,  and 
replete  with  the  romance   of   history.      Among  these  are  Harpswell, 


JVaterville. 

and  Orr's  Island,  immortalized  by  Whitticr's  weird  poem,  and  one  of  Mrs. 
Stowe's  finest  novels;  Arrowsic  and  Georgetown,  on  whose  sea-blown 
fields  hundreds  of  settlers  and  Puritan' soldiers  were  slain  by  the  Indians- 
gray  old  Phipsburg,  where  the  ephemeral  Anglican  colony  of  St.  George 
was  founded  in  1606;  and  many  another  island  and  promontory  whose 
name  was  written  in  blood  on  the  scrolls  of  ancient  colonial  history. 


WATERVILLE. 

A  GROUP  of  quiet  streets,  shaded  by  venerable  trees,  and  bordered  by 
peaceful  homes  ;  a  factory  or  two,  giving  contented  employment  to  a  few 
score  of  industrious  men  ;  churches  for  all  the  creeds  of  Christendom  ; 
wide  rural  roads,  leading  through  long-time-settled  environs  ;  a  bright  and 

rushing  river,  breaking  into  whiteness  and  music  at  the  Ticonic  Falls,  

such  is  Waterville,  one  of  the  fairest  villages  of  Maine,  and  one  of  the 
summer-resorts  of  the  future.  Already  the  great  hotel,  The  Klmwood, 
lifts  its  handsome  front  above  the  elms  and  maples;  and  parties  of  guests 
ride  away  from  its  verandas  through  all  the  adjacent  lake-country,  to  the 
bright  ponds  and  island-strewn  lakes  of  China  and  Belgrade,  to  the  cas- 
cades at  West  Waterville,  and  along  the  broad  and  picturesque  river-road. 
Near  the  sleepy  hamlet  of  Winslow,  and  clearly  visible  from  the  railway- 
trains,  still  remains  one  of  the  block-houses  of  P^ort  Halifax,  the  ancient 
defence  of  this  valley. 

At  Waterville  also  stand  the  buildings  of  Colby  University,  whose  grim 
Baptist  founders  little  dreamed  that  this  school  of  their  prophets  would  be 
the  training-ground  of  the  Coryphaeus  of  American  politicians,  —  Benjamin 
Y.  lUitler.  A  score  of  men  from  even  this  rural  and  sectarian  college 
gave  up  their  lives  in  the  great  civil  war  ;  and  their  names  are  fittingly 
inscribed  in  the  Memorial  Hall.  They  are  on  a  slab  under  a  colossal 
marble  statue  of  a  dead  lion,  whose  paw  rests  on  the  shield  of  the  Union, 
—  a  grand  monumental  idea,  which  the  sculptor  Milmore  adapted  from 
Thorwaldsen's  renowned  Lion  of  Lucerne. 

Waterville  is  on  the  Maine  Central  Railway,  where  its  tracks  via 
Augusta  and  via  Lewiston  join  ;  and  railroads  run  northward  thence  to 


30 


Picturesque  Maine. 


the  upper  Kennebec,  one  to  prosperous  Skowhegan,  at  the  great  falls  ; 
and  another  (from  the  busy  manufacturing  village  of  West  Waterville)  to 
Norridgewock  and  North  Anson.  Some  of  the  fairest  scenery  in  New 
England  is  found  in  the  vicinity  of  Norridgewock,  a  venerable  and  classic 
village  on  the  Kennebec,  buried  under  the  foliage  of  immense  trees,  which 
were  doubtless  coeval  with  the  aborigines.  The  river,  broad  and  blue, 
winds  in  graceful  sinuosities  between  diversified  banks,  under  clumps  of 
stately  trees,  around  high  bluffs,  and  between  shaggy  little  islands.  A 
few  miles  beyond  is  Solon,  with  rich  and  beautiful  intervales  bordering 
the  Kennebec,  and  the  brilliant  bit  of  water-passion  at  Carritunk  Falls. 
Daily  stages  run  from  North  Anson  and  Skowhegan  forty  miles  into  the 
wilderness,  a  sweet  and  pleasing  wilderness  withal,  crossed  by  invisible 
town-lines,  and  broken  by  occasional  villages,  to  Dead  River  Village  and 
to  The  Forks,  a  little  hamlet  on  the  Kennebec,  where  the  solemn  waters 
of  Dead  River  roll  in  from  the  west.  Hundreds  of  sportsmen  sojourn 
at  the  commodious  hotel  here,  and  find  abundance  of  hunting  and  fishing 
in  the  vicinity.  Those  who  wish  to  pass  out  of  New  England  by  a  most 
original  route  may  take  the  weekly  stage  from  The  Forks  to  Sandy  Bay, 
forty-four  miles  northward  among  the  frontier  mountains,  and  thence  de- 
scend the  valley  of  the  Riviere  du  Loup  to  the  St.  Lawrence,  in  one  of  her 
Majesty's  exceedingly  primitive  mail -stages.  But  the  true  sportsman  will 
prefer  to  stop  at  Parlin  Pond,  or  at  Moose-River  Village,  ten  leagues  from 
The  Forks,  whence,  in  a  forest-born  canoe,  he  may  descend  Moose  River 
and  its  ponds  for  forty  miles  to  Moosehead  Lake,  solacing  his  way  by 
fishing  in  virgin  waters,  and  enjoying  the  finest  flavor  of  aboriginal  life  in 
night-camps  upon  the  bosky  banks.  Through  all  this  region  an  increasing 
silence  reigns,  for  the  videttes  of  civilization  have  fallen  back  and  trans- 
ferred their  attack  to  the  unwooded  prairies  of  the  land  of  the  Dakotas, 
thousands  of  miles  to  the  westward,  while  their  log-huts  are  left  to  rot 
away  under  the  shadows  of  the  renewing  forest. 

The  upper  Kennebec  region  is  rich  in  the  poetry  of  ancient  legend 
and  history,  and  the  contemplative  traveller  may  find  in  the  breezes  which 
sigh  over  its  meadows  something  of  that  weird  and  half-imagined  melody 
of  pathos  which  is  heard  upon  the  Roman  Campagna  or  among  the  rock- 
hewn  temples  of  the  Nile,  when,  towards  twilight,  the  moving  air  seems 
vocal  with  the  plaints  of  vanished  races.  At  Old  Point,  near  Norridge- 
wock, stood  the  chief  town  of  the  Canibas  Indians,  a  valiant  and  numer- 


IVaterville. 


31 


ous  tribe,  to  whom,  a  decade  before  Plymouth  was  founded,  French 
missionaries  came  from  Quebec,  and  founded  a  semi-sacerdotal  govern- 
ment, which  was  consolidated  nearly  a  century  later  by  Pere  Rale.  He 
was  a  man  of  profound  ability  and  fervor,  and  built  cltLirches,  prepared 
books  in  the  Abcnaqui  tongue,  and  half-civilized  his  dusky  converts. 
Affain  and  a2:ain  the  consecrated  banner  of  the  Canibas  was  borne  on 
destructive  crusades  over  the  ruins  of  the  Puritan  villages  of  the  coast  ; 
and  again  and  again  the  troops  of  the  American  colonies  assailed  the 
Norridgewock  domains.  At  last,  in  1724,  the  forces  of  the  provincials, 
])receded  by  a  cloud  of  Mohawk  skirmishers,  burst  upon  the  village,  and 
pitilessly  massacred  all  its  inhabitants,  sparing  not  even  women  or  chil- 
dren. When  the  few  Indians  who  had  escaped  to  the  woods  re-entered 
the  ruined  town,  they  found  Pere  Rale's  mutilated  body  at  the  foot  of  the 
cross*  and,  in  the  }xithetic  words  of  ISIIistoire  Gcucralc  de  Nouvclle 
J'raiicCy  "After  his  converts  had  raised  up  and  ofttimes  kissed  the  pre- 
cious remains,  so  tenderly  and  so  justly  beloved  by  them,  they  buried  him 
in  the  same  i)lace  where  he  had  the  evening  before  celebrated  the  sacred 
mysteries,  namely,  the  spot  where  the  altar  stood  before  the  church  was 
burned."  In  1833  the  Bishop  of  Boston  erected  a  granite  obelisk  on  the 
site  of  Rale's  grave,  to  commemorate  its  sanctity  in  the  hearts  of  Roman 
Catholics. 

In  1775  Arnold's  anabasis  was  conducted  through  this  region,  then  in 
the  wildness  of  silence  and  desolation.  Ten  companies  of  Massachusetts 
musketeers  and  three  companies  of  Virginia  riflemen  marched  from  Cam- 
bridge to  Newburyport,  and  sailed  thence  to  Gardiner,  on  the  Kennebec, 
whence  they  ascended  in  two  hundred  bateaux,  by  Augusta  and  Norridge- 
wock and  uj)  the  Dead  River,  suffering  unparalleled  hardships,  by  famine 
and  flood,  and  at  last  crossing  to  Lake  Megantic,  and  descending  the 
Chaudiere  River  to  the  northward.  ICleven  hundred  soldiers  set  out  from 
Cambridge,  and  two  months  later  seven  hundred  and  fifty  only  of  them 
debouched  on  the  Plains  of  Abraham,  famished,  half-naked,  and  enfeebled 
by  herculean  labors,  yet  brave  as  the  paladins  of  Charlemagne.  Seven 
days  were  passed  in  getting  the  flotilla  around  the  falls  at  Skowhegan  ; 
and  above,  for  many  days  the  command  marched  in  the  stream,  in  order 
to  i)ush  the  bateaux  against  the  rapid  current.  The  iM-ench  villages 
along  the  Chaudiere  still  remember  the  march  of  the  Bostoiinais  down 
their  cpiiet  valley,  the  first  and  last  memorable  event  which  occurred  ni 


32 


Picturesque  Maine. 


all  that  region.  This  mysterious  and  terrible  apparition  of  the  wilderness 
startled  Quebec,  and  would  have  caused  a  fatal  panic  in  any  but  a  British 
garrison.  Amid  the  icy  night  of  the  last  day  of  the  year,  Arnold's  men 
and  Montgomery's  New-Yorkers  made  their  forlorn  assault  on  the  massy 
walls  of  the  Gibraltar  of  the  North,  and  in  a  few  hours  of  ineffectual 
battle  lost  six  hundred  men  and  were  driven  off  in  rout.  Those  whom 
the  perils  of  the  wilderness  had  spared,  the  famine  and  the  flood,  fell  in 
winrows  under  the  artillery  of  the  fortress,  or  wasted  away  in  the  prisons 
of  a  strange  land. 


BANGOR. 

Where  navigation  ceases  on  the  noble  Penobscot  River,  sixty  miles 
from  the  sea,  and  the  great  net-work  of  eastern  railroad  and  stage  routes 
converge  to  a  focal  point,  the  city  of  Bangor  spreads  over  the  crests  and 
slopes  of  the  hills,  and  controls  a  rural  trade  throughout  an  immense  area, 
giving  the  means  of  comfortable  subsistence  to  her  twenty  thousand 
sturdy  Yankee  citizens.  The  largest  ships,  bearing  the  flags  of  all  the 
great  maritime  nations,  anchor  in  the  stream,  and  are  laden  with  the  lum- 
ber which  floats  down  from  the  wilderness,  and  is  sawed  up  in  the  mills 
which  line  the  Penobscot  for  miles  above.  Billions  of  feet  of  lumber  have 
been  shipped  from  this  river-port,  to  be  converted  to  innumerable  uses, 
noble  or  base,  in  the  cities  of  the  lower  States,  or  alone:  the  coasts  of 
Western  Europe,  competing  with  the  woody  products  of  Canada  and 
Michigan  and  Norway. 

The  pleasantest  part  of  the  city  is  on  the  bluffs  south  of  the  Kendus- 
keag,  where  many  of  the  best  private  residences  are  placed.  In  this  airy 
location  stands  the  spacious  Bangor  House,  the  foremost  hotel  in  the  city, 
and  the  summer-rendezvous  of  thousands  of  tourists  in  Eastern  Maine. 
From  the  hotel  depart  daily  stages  for  Mount  Desert,  traversing  a  score 
of  hamlets  and  villages,  and  reaching  the  famous  island  over  a  long  cause- 
way. There  are  good  fishing-grounds  in  the  country  about  Bangor,  which 
are  explored  by  sportsmen  from  this  comfortable  base  of  supplies,  — crafty 
fellows,  indeed,  who  prefer  the  luxurious  rooms  of  Landlord  Beals  to  the 
leaky  bark-camps  of  the  lake-region. 


Bangor. 


33 


So  fair  is  the  situation  of  Ban^c^or,  and  so  pleasing  the  views  from  its 
liills,  that  the  early  inhabitants  resolved  that  its  name  should  be  Sun- 
bury,"  and  so  instructed  their  representative,  the  Rev.  Seth  Noble.  But 
he  was  an  admirer  of  the  religious  tune  called  "Bangor;"  and  in  some 
queer  way  so  mingled  his  hymnological  preference  with  his  political  duty, 
that,  when  the  speaker  of  the  House  called  for  the  name  of  the  new  town 
to  be  incorporated,  he  answered  "Bangor,"  and  so  it  was  recorded  and 
remains.  The  affair  looks  very  like  a  piece  of  ecclesiastical  finesse,  —  a 
bit  of  Puritan  Jesuitry;  but  the  result  was  not  altogether  unhappy. 

The  Bangor  and  Bucksport  Railroad  is  the  beginning,  doubtless,  of  a 
grand  route  throughout  T^astern  Maine,  to  Machias  and  Eastport.  At 
})resent,  its  track  is  less  than  twenty  miles  long,  and  extends  down  the 
east  bank  of  the  Penobscot,  throuirh  the  villaofes  of  Brewer  and  Orrineton. 
to  a  terminus  at  Bucksport.  This  port,  situated  in  a  charmingly  diversi- 
#fied  town,  and  devoted  to  ship-building  and  the  deep-sea  fisheries,  was  first 
settled  by  Col.  Buck,  one  hundred  and  twenty  years  ago.  Here  the  rail- 
road connects  with  steamboats  for  l^oston,  Portland,  and  Machias,  and 
with  stages  for  almost  everywhere  in  the  south-eastern  counties. 

The  defences  of  Bangor  are  many  miles  down  the  river,  at  East  Pros- 
jK'Ct,  near  Bucksport,  where  the  National  Government  has  expended  an 
enormous  sum  in  raising  the  walls  and  jireparing  the  armament  of  Fort 
Knox,  whose  heavy  batteries  command  the  river  for  a  long  distance.  A 
few  miles  below  is  Fort  Point,  on  which  the  British  Parliament  built  a 
strong  fortress  in  1759,  to  serve  as  a  bulwark  against  the  French  fleet  and 
the  Indian  bands.  The  surrounding  country  was  settled  by  veteran  sol- 
(hers,  whose  descendants  still  occui-)y  the  land.  The  fortress  was  destroyed 
by  the  l^ritish  frigate  Caiiseau,  in  1775,  and  a  great  summer-hotel  now 
lifts  its  white  front  near  the  gray  and  venerable  ruins. 

The  fruitful  valor  and  traditional  success  of  the  American  navy  have 
always  failed  it  on  this  most  beautiful  section  of  the  republican  shores; 
and  it  may  safely  be  said  that  our  fleets  have  met  with  more  disasters  and 
humiliations  off  the  Maine  coast  than  in  any  other  waters.  Pirates, 
iMcnchmen,  a  ul  l)ritons  have  in  turn  laid  the  maritime  towns  under 
contribution  ;  and  in  1724  a  provincial  fleet  was  beaten,  off  Thomaston, 
b\'  vessels  manned  even  by  Indians.  In  18 14.  a  powerful  British  squadron 
from  Halifax  and  the  Bermudas  took  the  fortifications  of  luistport  and 
Kohbinston,  and  landed  a  thousand  soldiers  there,  from  whence  they  made 


34 


Picturesque  Mame, 


successful  forays  upon  Thomaston  and  other  points.  A  few  weeks  later, 
the  ships-of-the-line  Dragon,  Spenser,  m\d  B7ilwa7'k  ;  the  frigates  BaecJiantc 
and  J^enedos,  just  from  the  Mediterranean  ;  the  sloops-of-war  Sylph, 
and  Peruvian,  and  twelve  other  vessels,  with  three  thousand  soldiers, 
entered  Castine  harbor,  and  took  the  fort,  afterwards  crossing  to 
Belfast,  and  then  ascending  the  Penobscot.  The  United  States  cor- 
vette Adams  was  then  being  refitted  at  Hampden ;  and  hither  the 
Dragon  and  other  ships  sailed  with  all  possible  speed.  The  captain  of 
the  Adams  had  placed  her  heavy  guns  in  battery  on  the  shore,  and 
opened  a  tremendous  fire  upon  the  enemy  ;  but  the  local  militia  were 
routed  by  a  gallant  bayonet-charge  of  the  British  light  infantry,  and  the 
sailors  were  forced  to  spike  their  guns,  burn  the  corvette,  and  flee  to  the 
woods.  Then  the  fleet  sailed  to  Bangor,  and  the  infantry  marched  up 
along  the  river-bank,  and  occupied  the  town  without  resistance,  levying 
a  forced  contribution  on  the  citizens,  plundering  the  houses,  and  burning 
fourteen  vessels  in  the  harbor.  Castine  was  permanently  garrisoned  by 
more  than  two  thousand  British  regulars,  who  erected  a  strong  fortress 
with  sixty  guns  on  the  hill,  and  assailed  Frankfort,  Machias,  Camden,  and 
other  points  in  the  vicinity,  with  impunity.  Yet  the  pusillanimous  militia- 
men of  1 8 14  were  the  ancestors  of  the  magnificent  Second  Maine,  the  last 
regiment  on  the  fatal  field  of  Bull  Rim,  and  the  same  which  fought  at 
Fredericksburg  under  a  whirlwind  of  fire,  until  one-third  of  its  members 
were  killed  or  wounded. 


MOUNT  DESERT. 


HE  eastern  coast  of  Maine,  from  the  Penobscot  to  Passama- 
quockly  Bay,  is  peculiarly  rich  in  attractive  ocean-scenery, 
combined  in  the  most  effective  manner  with  high  mountains 
and  ruL^ged  islands,  and  with  a  succession  of  fiords  which 
rival  those  on  the  wild  coast  of  Norway.  Every  year  in- 
creases the  number  of  those  who  leave  the  heated  cities  of 
the  lower  coast,  and  spend  a  brief  period  amid  these  deliL;htful  scenes, 
where  a  refreshing  coolness  reigns  during  all  the  vernal  season,  and  the 
iodated  air  gives  fresh  life  to  the  jaded  system.  Among  the  scores  of 
resorts  between  Castine  and  ICasti)ort.  Mount  Desert  is  easily  paramount; 
and  thousands  of  visitors  enjoy  its  rare  combinations  of  mountain  and  sea- 
shore scenery. 

iM-om  Bangor,  daily  stages  and  weekly  steamboats  depart  for  Mount 
Desert  ;  and  from  Portland,  steamboats  run  eastward  to  the  island  in 
twelve  hours.  Many  travellers  prefer  to  go  by  rail  to  Rockland,  avoiding 
a  considerable  sea-voyage,  and  board  the  Portland  steamer  when  it  touches 
there,  or  proceed  by  the  new  steamboat  *'  Mount  Desert,"  which  runs  to 
the  island  daily. 

It  would  be  hard  to  find,  this  side  of  the  /Egean  Sea  and  the  Bos- 
phorus,  a  more  charming  sail  than  that  which  lies  between  Rockland  and 
Mount  Desert,  over  the  bright  waters  of  Penobscot  Bay,  and  sheltered 
from  the  long  swell  of  the  ocean  by  breakwaters  of  islands.  The  tall 
mountains  of  Camden  and  the  blue  jK^aks  of  Mount  Desert  spring  appar- 
ently from  the  distant  waves,  and  myriads  of  islands  diversify  the  view, 
some  of  Ihem  mere  bits  of  rock  and  trees,  where  birds  alone  may  dwell, 
and  others  so  large  as  to  sustain  white  hamlets  of  fishermen,  with  senti- 

35 


36 


Picttivesqtte  Maine. 


nel-spires  answering  the  All's  Well  of  the  mainland  church-towers,  and 
slender  masts  rising  from  the  sheltering  coves.  Over  the  blue  waters  the 
stanch  little  fishing-boats  dance  merrily,  with  their  white  sails  filled  by 
the  fresh  breezes,  and  their  decks  manned  by  the  bronzed  Vikings  of  New 
England's  peaceful  marine  ;  and  gallant  flotillas  of  dories  rock  on  the 
waves,  while  their  occupants  pursue  schools  of  fish,  entangled  among  the 
islands.  Farther  outside  are  tall  ships  of  Norway  or  of  Britain,  beating 
in  to  the  river,  to  bear  away  cargoes  of  lumber  from  Bangor  ;  and  broad 
and  heavy  sloops,  the  draymen  of  the  sea,  carrying  hewn  blocks  of  granite 
from  the  island-cliffs  to  build  great  edifices  in  the  rich  midland  cities,  or 
to  furnish  monolithic  colonnades  for  the  governmental  palaces  at  Wash- 
ington. The  aromatic  fragrance  of  the  forests  blends  with  the  bracing  air 
of  the  ocean,  and  the  distant  sounds  of  the  farm  m'ingie  with  the  melody 
of  lapsing  waves  and  the  weird  cries  of  sea-birds.  At  this  point,  America 
and  the  Atlantic  sound  a  perpetual  antiphonal,  now  sinking  into  a  dulcet 
pianissimo,  on  days  of  calm,  and  now  swelling  into  an  appalling  equinoc- 
tial roar,  or  blending  into  such  a  symphony  as  even  Rubinstein  could  but 
feebly  echo.  The  arrangement  of  the  shores  and  islands  and  the  breezy 
sea  is  almost  rhythmic  in  its  grace  and  symmetry,  and  has  a  charming 
kaleidoscopic  effect  as  seen  from  the  deck  of  the  advancing  vessel.  As 
the  steamer  traverses  this  salt-water  Winnepesaukee,  it  skims  through 
narrow  straits  between  rugged  and  odorous  islets  ;  or  emerges  upon  lake- 
like expanses,  with  far-away  views  ;  or  shoots  with  arrowy  speed  past 
rocky  and  storm-beaten  headlands,  fringed  with  waving  lines  of  surf;  or 
approaches  quaint  and  ancient  maritime  villages,  off  which  the  snug  little 
fishing-craft  tug  at  their  anchors. 

The  richest  charms  of  legend  and  romance,  the  fascination  of  historic 
reminiscence,  linger  along  all  these  shores,  and  add  the  imperishable 
interest  of  human  life  and  heroic  deeds  to  this  wealth  of  natural  scenery. 
Three  centuries  have  passed  since  the  monkish  geographers  of  Europe 
located  hereabouts  the  mystic  palaces  of  the  great  city  of  Norumbega, 
and  bade  men  search  here  for  the  wealth  of  Prester  John  and  the  Moguls 
Many  a  gallant  navigator  sailed  from  the  ports  of  England  to  explore 
these  unknown  shores ;  and  the  Breton  and  Norman  fleets  sent  their 
most  intrepid  captains  to  penetrate  their  mysteries.  Gosnold,  Weymouth, 
Popham,  and  the  high-born  Raleigh  Gilbert,  in  succession  **weyed  an- 
chors and  sett  saile  to  goe  for  the  river  of  Sagadahoc ; "  and  were  rivalled 


Mount  Desert. 

in  their  discoveries  by  Champlain,  Iberville,  DcMonts,  and  many  a  sfirdv 
iM-cnch  admiral.  Their  day  seems  as  remote  as  the  Crusades  ;  and  their 
records,  written  in  Elizabethan  English  or  the  patois  of  maritime  Brittany 
are  as  diverting  as  the  chronicles  of  the  Heptarchy.  After  these  pioneer- 
keels  came  the  knightly  Pyrenean  soldier,  the  Baron  de  St.  Castin,  who 
married  the  daughter  of  the  great  chieftain  Madockawando,  and  for  many 
years  fought  the  fleets  of  Puritan  Massachusetts,  among  these  silent 
island.s.  He  indeed  is  the  pre-eminent  figure  in  the  heroic  age  of  the 
Penobscot ;  and  not  even  Rob  Roy  of  Loch  Katrine,  nor  William  Tell  of 
Lake  Lucerne,  has  endowed  the  scene  of  his  exploits  with  such  a  wealth 
(jf  weird  and  marvellous  legends. 

More  than  a  century  has  passed  since  the  last  of  the  long  succession 
of  sieges  and  naval  battles  shook  the  bay  with  its  tremendous  cannonad- 
ing, when  Massachusetts  sent  forty-three  vessels,  with  three  hundred  and 
forty  cannon  and  two  thousand  soldiers,  to  drive  the  British  garrison  from 
Castine.  This  great  force  was  commanded  by  Commodore  Saltonstall,  of 
Xcw  Haven  ;  Gen.  Lovell,  of  Weymouth  ;  and  Gen.  Wadsworth,  the 
grandfather  of  the  poet  Longfellow.  Gen.  McLane,  the  British  com- 
mander, was  a  brave  officer,  and  had  a  trusty  garrison  of  nine  hundred 
men,  with  whom  he  repelled  the  storming-parties  and  made  lively  answer 
t')  the  prolonged  bombardment  of  the  Americans.  Suddenly  a  British 
lleet  appeared  off  the  harbor, —  the  Raisonable,  sixty-four;  Blonde,  thirty- 
two;  Gny/ioimd,  twenty-eight;  G?wz7A?,  twenty-four ;  Galatea,  twenty- 
lour;  Virginia,  eighteen,  and  Otte}%  fourteen;  and,  led  by  Sir  George 
Collier,  instantly  advanced  to  attack  the  formidable  semicircle  of  the 
American  fleet.  One  broadside  from  the  English  ships  broke  the 
opposing  line,  and  its  vessels  made  sail  in  wild  confusion,  all  consid- 
'  rations  of  honor,  valor,  and  duty  being  swallowed  up  in  a  frightful 
I  Liiic.  One  hour  of  Paul  Jones  or  David  Earragut  might  have  turned 
this  marine  15ull  Run  into  a  victory,  or  at  least  have  surrounded  the 
sunken  ships  with  the  glory  which  still  hovers  over  the  Ciimbc7'land' s 
wreck  in  Hampton  Roads.  But  pusillanimity  ruled  the  day,  and  her 
Hi  itannic  Majesty's  frigates  i)ursued  the  flying  war-vessels  and  transports 
all  through  the  bay  and  its  tributaries,  burning  some  and  driving  others 
ashore.  Nine  American  men-of-war  and  several  transports  ascended  as 
l.ir  as  I^angor,  where  they  were  blown  up  by  their  crews,  still  mastered 
by  abject  and  panic  fear.     P'rom  this  time  until  the  close  uf  the  Revolu- 


38 


Pictttresqtte  Maine. 


tion,  the  British  held  Castine,  and  made  numerous  forays  along  the  shores 
of  the  bay,  while  their  line-of-battle  ships  and  swarms  of  privateers  ter- 
rorized the  entire  coast  of  Maine.  In  1812  the  British  again  occupied 
the  post  of  Castine,  with  a  garrison  of  four  thousand  men,  and  held  it 
undisturbed  until  the  close  of  the  war. 

The  Jlcur-de-lys  of  France  and  the  red  cross  of  St.  George  have  van- 
ished from  these  narrow  seas,  and  the  standards  of  the  Puritan  colony  have 
been  transformed  into  the  bright  flag  of  the  Republic,  floating  peacefully 
here,  as  along  the  Mexican  Gulf  and  over  the  Aleutian  archipelago,  and 
blending  the  red  of  summer  sunsets,  the  white  of  northern  snows,  and 
the  blue  of  the  outer  ocean. 

The  steamboat  from  Portland  runs  up  nearly  to  the  head  of  Penobscot 
Bay,  threading  the  green  archipelago  of  Isleboro',  the  home  of  sea-rovers, 
and  touching  at  the  delicious  old  village  of  Castine,  with  its  ruined  P'rench 
and  British  batteries  and  snug  little  American  fort.  Here  one  may  meet 
the  spectacled  antiquary,  mousing  over  ruined  ramparts  and  grass-grown 
casemates  ;  the  sweet-voiced  girl,  from  the  Eastern  Normal  School,  in  the 
village  ;  the  rough  miner,  prospecting  for  silver  in  the  new  Eldorado  of 
Maine;  or  the  urban  summer-tourist,  doubling  the  revenues  of  rustic  land-,, 
lords  and  sun-browned  boatmen. 

The  course  lies  onward  around  the  black  cliffs  of  Cape  Rosier,  and 
down  the  watery  lane  of  the  Eggemoggin  Reach,  to  the  landings  at  Deer 
Isle  and  Sedgwick.  The  air  grows  more  salty,  and  the  fresh' ripples  of 
the  bay  melt  into  the  long  swell  of  the  sea.  Far  out  over  the  weltering 
blue  waves  are  the  precipices  of  Isle  au  Haut ;  Blue  Hill  sweeps  upward 
for  a  thousand  feet,  under  the  port  bow  ;  and  in  front  the  bold  ridges  of 
Mount  Desert  swell  into  the  sky.  On  the  southern  extremity  of  the 
island,  the  steamer  stops  briefly  at  Southwest  Harbor,  with  its  red  hill- 
ocks of  lobster-shells  from  the  canning  factories,  and  its  summer-hotels, 
in  the  entrance  to  Somes's  Sound.  Then  the  course  is  laid  around  the 
southern  and  eastern  coasts,  and  up  into  Frenchman's  Bay,  with  grand 
mountain-scenery  on  either  side,  until  the  village  of  hotels  at  Bar  Harbor 
comes  into  view,  and  the  end  of  the  journey  is  reached. 

The  gazetteers  tell  us  that  Mount  Desert  is  an  island,  separated  from 
the  mainland  by  a  shallow  strait,  one  hundred  and  ten  miles  east  of  Port- 
land, covering  a  hundred  square  miles,  and  containing  three  towns  and 


AToitnt  Desert. 


39 


four  tlioiisand  inliabitants.  luirthcrmore,  tliat  it  lias  become  one  of  the 
Ir.ulin^^  sumnier-rcsorts  on  the  New-England  coast,  especially  since  the 
opening  of  the  steamboat-routes,  and  that  the  village  of  Bar  Harbor 
contains  a  full  score  of  hotels  and  boarding-houses,  which  are  visited  every 
year  by  thousands  of  tourists. 

The  historian  finds  a  fascinating  subject  in  this  remote  northern  island; 
for  the  first  actors  on  its  scene  are  Indian  chiefs,  French  nobles,  and 
Jesuit  priests,  —  three  classes  whom  the  modern  scholar  of  the  Boston 
l^rahmin  class  cherishes  in  memory  with  a  tenderness  fully  equal  in  power 
to  the  vindictive  hatred  with  which  his  remote  ancestors  attacked  them  by 
force  of  arms.  It  was  the  Sieur  de  Champlain  who  discovered  the  island 
in  1605,  and  named  it  Moiits  Deserts ;  and  soon  afterwards  it  was  occu- 
l)ied,  in  the  name  of  God  and  of  Rome,  by  a  band  of  French  Jesuits,  who, 
as  they  lantled,  "gave  thanks  to  God,  elevating  the  Cross,  and  singing 
praises  with  the  holy  Sacrifice  of  the  Mass."  They  had  begun  to  minister 
to  the  friendly  natives,  to  plant  gardens  and  fields,  and  to  erect  fortifica- 
tii)ns,  when  suddenly  theie  appeared  an  armed  ship  in  the  harbor,  com- 
nic-tTlded  by  Argall,  the  governor  of  Virginia,  and  "hung  at  the  waist  with 
rec!,  while  the  arms  of  ICngland  floated  over  it,  and  three  trumpets  and 
jUtwo  (bums  were  ready  to  sound.  .  .  .  The  first  discharge  was  terrible; 
•  whole  ship  was  wrapped  in  fire  and  smoke."  Father  du  Thet  and 
oral  others  were  shot,  and  the  colonists  were  all  carried  away  on  the 
ading  vessel.  So  the  Christian  crosses  and  the  Bourbon  lilies  went 
down,  bathed  in  the  blood  of  those  who  had  planted  them  in  the  wilder- 
ness, and  Mount  Desert  was  left  in  silence  and  solitude.  Many  years 
later,  Louis  XIV.,  Le  Grand  Moiuirqiie,  granted  the  island  to  Condillac, 
who  was  afterwards  governor  of  Louisiana,  and  always  proudly  assumed 
the  title,  barren  though  it  was,  of  "  Lord  of  Mount  Desert."  In  1785  the 
legislature  of  Massachusetts  confirmed  the  title  to  Condillac's  grand- 
daughter, Madame  de  (n-egoire,  whose  grave  may  now  be  visited  at  Hull's 
Cove.  Afterwards,  the  islanders  became  famous  as  daring  and  expert 
mariners  ;  and  many  a  stately  vessel  was  built  in  the  quiet  coves  on  each 
shore,  while  the  sea  was  laid  under  contribution  to  increase  the  comfort  of 
those  who  abode  at  home.  Of  late  years,  when  every  eligible  site  seems 
l^re-cmptcd  for  a  summer-hotel,  and  villas  rivalling  those  of  Newport  adorn 
the  eastern  headlands,  the  cur.se  of  Midas  threatens  the  island,  and  only 
the  sturdv  independence  of  its  simple  people  saves  them  from  the  venial 
degrachition  which  has  ingulfed  the  lower  classes  of  Naples  and  Niagara. 


40 


Picturesque  Maine. 


Nowhere  else  on  the  North-Atlantic  coast  is  there  such  a  blending  of 
the  choicest  features  of  landscape  beauty,  where  the  mountains  and  the 
sea  compete  in  grandeur,  and  their  charms  are  heightened  by  noble  fiords, 
crystalline  and  secluded  lakes,  and  imposing  headlands  and  lines  of  rugged 
cliffs.  Infinite  variety  appears  on  every  side,  and  there  is  hardly  a  phase 
of  nature  that  is  not  exemplified  in  this  fair  microcosm.  Cyprus  and 
Capri  have  their  mountains,  the  Isle  of  Wight  its  verdant  parks,  Bermuda 
its  perpetual  summer ;  but  no  other  island  within  the  reach  of  the  Sara- 
toga trunk  has  such  an  affluence  of  grand  Norwegian  scenery.  There  are 
thirteen  tall  mountain-peaks  here,  on  one  side  sloping  downward  into 
pellucid  lakes  of  fresh  water,  and  on  the  other  repelling  the  unceasing 
attacks  of  the  surf  from  cliffs  of  tirne-stained  rock.  The  deep  salt  waters 
of  Somes's  Sound  penetrate  the  island  for  seven  miles,  overshadowed  by 
ponderous  mountains,  and  rivalling  the  delightful  scenery  of  Lake  George 
and  the  Highlands  of  the  Hudson.  Within  an  hour  one  can  pass  from 
secluded  and  silent  tarns,  and  shadowy  and  windless  glens,  recalling  the 
Adirondacks,  to  broad  and  rocky  strands,  along  which  the  white  breakers 
dash  with  deep  and  ceaseless  music. 

But  the  visitor  to  these  hyperborean  (and  sometimes  foggy)  shores 
need  not  confine  himself  to  reading  Wordsworth  and  the  Icelandic  Sagas., 
If  the  island  is  a  new  Avilion,  the  village  is  a  mild  Sybaris,  howbeit  no 
Delmonico  has  yet  ameliorated  its  fare.  There  are  Indians  here  of  the 
genuine  summer-resort  variety,  who  may  remind  you  of  the  Park  at  Sara- 
toga, or  the  abominations  of  Goat  Island  ;  shops  bedecked  with  trinkets  to 
allure  the  ducats  of  New  York  and  Boston  ;  guides  and  boatmen,  whose 
grammar  is  as  piquant  as  their  hands  are  brown  and  their  hearts  are  true  ; 
and  the  usual  regalia  of  grandiloquently-named  points  for  excursions  in 
the  immediate  environs.  By  day,  the  click  of  billiard-balls,  the  impact  of 
the  not-yet  obsolescent  croquet,  and  the  strokes  of  lawn-tennis,  are  heard 
with  varying  accompaniments  ;  and,  at  evening,  the  rasping  of  stringed 
instruments,  and  the  muffled  sound  of  many  feet,  betoken  that  hops  " 
are  in  progress  at  the  hotels.  Miss  Irene  Macgillicuddy  spreads  her 
dainty  skirts  in  the  cabin  of  a  yacht  almost  as  dainty  ;  and  a  materialized 
Marjorie  Daw  coquets  bewitchingly  with  a  humanized  Miles  Arbuton. 
Several  society-novels  have  had  their  scenes  laid  here,  indirectly  implying 
the  inferiority  of  the  attractions  of  mountains,  as  compared  with  bright 
eyes;  and  demonstrating  clearly  that  Gounod's    Maid  of  Athens,"  sung 


Schooner  Head. 

by  a  clear-voiced  tenor  with  expectations,  can  drown  even  the  deepest 
bass  of  an  oceanic  symphony.  Some  may  find  these  summer  days  a 
Vanity  Fair,  and  others  in  them  enter  Paradise;  but,  meanwhile,  over  aU 
flows  the  vast  current  of  balmy  and  beneficent  sea-air,  giving  sleep  to  the 
restless,  zest  to  the  palled  appetite,  and  new  vigor  to  the  weary,  whether 
of  the  flesh  or  the  spirit. 

The  beautiful  architecture  of  the  West-End  Hotel,  and  the  luxurious 
parlors  of  the  Grand  Central,  attract  jcunessc  dorec,  ^nd  offer  to  the 
visitor  such  comforts  as  were  unknown  here  five  years  ago.  It  is  no 
longer  necessary  to  mortify  the  flesh  in  order  to  see  Ultima  Thule. 


SCHOONER  HEAD. 

One  of  the  quaint  Mynheer-Vanderdecken  legends  of  the  island  relates 
how  a  British  frigate  once  ran  in  towards  the  shore,  on  a  foggy  day  in 
i*Si2,  and  opened  a  hot  cannonade  on  what  it  supposed  to  be  a  Yankee 
coasting-vessel,  but  which  was  merely  a  white  formation  on  the  front  of  a 
dark  rocky  cliff.  The  l^ritish  men-of-war  found  Mount  Desert  a  valuable 
station  for  water  and  other  supplies  during  that  war,  just  as  the  Russian 
naval  contingent  availed  itself  of  the  same  shelter  quite  recently,  while 
the  Czar's  armies  were  crossing  the  i)lains  of  Adrianople.  Four  miles 
from  I^ar  Harbor,  where  Newport  Mountain  projects  into  Frenchman's 
l^ay,  the  i)allid  effigy  of  a  vessel  still  gives  reason  for  the  name  of  Schooner 
Mead.  In  the  crest  of  the  cliff  is  the  deep  cleft  of  the  Spouting  Horn, 
through  which,  at  certain  seasons,  the  white  waves  are  driven  upward, 
and  form  a  geyser-like  jet  far  above  the  tops  of  the  trees,  with  infinite 
roaring  and  crashing.  Just  across  the  cove  is  the  wonderful  grotto  called 
Anemone  Cove,  —  Caliban's  own  garden,  where  each  receding  tide  leaves 
a  new  museum  of  strange  creatures  of  the  sea,  stranded  among  the  delicate 
and  richly-tinted  rock-weeds  and  mosses. 


42 


Picturesque  Maine. 


GREAT  HEAD 

is  perhaps  two  miles  below  this  locality,  and  confronts  the  dashing  and 
roaring  surf  with  an  immense  barrier  of  firm-based  rock,  which  throws  off 
the  assaults  of  the  sea  as  easily  as  Monadnock  repels  the  mountain- 
breezes.  Emerging  from  the  forest  upon  the  top  of  these  mighty  ledges, 
a  glorious  panorama  of  the  ocean  breaks  upon  the  view,  while  the  thrilling 
savor  of  salty  air  becomes  apparent,  and  the  file-firing  of  the  surf  breaks 
upon  the  ear.  Straight  away  to  the  eastward,  the  blue  water  wrinkles  up 
and  down  until  it  beats  on  the  ancient  coasts  of  Aquitaine  and  Gascony ; 
and  to  the  westward,  close  at  hand,  are  the  silent  mountains,  among  whose 
defiles  the  red  deer  still  lurk,  and  the  bald  eagles  build  their  lofty  nests. 


THE  OVENS. 

Northward  from  Bar  Harbor  a  road  runs  outward  by  the  shores  of  the 
bay,  and  passes  through  the  tiny  hamlet  of  Hull's  Cove,  with  its  curving 
beach  and  nestling  houses,  and  passes  onward  towards  the  bridge  which 
unites  Mount  Desert  with  the  mainland.  The  Ovens  are  a  group  of 
caverns  which  the  sea  has  worn  in  the  base  of  a  line  of  porphyritic  cliffs, 
and  may  be  approached  by  boat  at  full  tide  (like  the  Blue  Grotto  at  Capri), 
or  on  foot  across  a  pebbly  beach,  when  the  water  is  out.  Far  above  these 
rude  Gothic  crypts  the  evergreen  forest  lifts  its  waving  spires,  moistened 
by  the  salt  spray,  and  bending  under  the  breezes  which  sweep  across 
Frenchman's  Bay. 

The  charms  of  these  coasts  and  islands  are  great  indeed,  but  are  fully 
matched  by  the  differing  attractions  on  the  inland  roads.  A  few  miles 
within  the  mountain-wall  is  Eagle  Lake,  where  Church  used  to  dream  of 
art,  and  mirror  beauty  on  his  glowing  canvases  ;  or  Somesville,  crouching 
among  the  central  peaks  at  the  head  of  the  great  sound  ;  or  the  hotel- 
crowned  summit  of  Green  Mountain,  the  highest  peak  on  the  Atlantic 
coast  north  of  the  Greater  Antilles,  with  its  magnificent  view  over  the 
ocean,  the  adjacent  island-studded  bays,  and  the  blue  peaks  of  Eastern 


Mount  Desei't. 


43 


Maine.  Let  Whittier,  the  poet  of  New  England,  describe  this  glorious 
prospect  :  — 

"  Far  eastward  o'er  the  lovely  bay 
Penobscot's  clustered  wigwams  lay. 
Beneath  the  westward-turning  eye 
A  thousand  wooded  islands  lie,  — 
Gems  of  the  waters  !  with  each  hue 
Of  brightness  set  in  ocean's  blue. 
There  sleeps  Placentia's  group ;  and  there 
r^^re  Breteaux  marks  the  hour  of  prayer ; 
And  there  beneath  the  sea-worn  cliff, 
On  which  the  Father's  hut  is  seen. 
The  Indian  stays  his  rocking  skiff. 
And  peers  the  hemlock-boughs  between, 
Half  trembling  as  he  seeks  to  look 
Upon  the  Jesuit's  cross  and  book. 
There  gloomily  against  the  sky, 
The  Dark  Isles  rear  their  summits  high; 
And  Desert  Rock,  abrupt  and  bare. 
Lifts  its  gray  turrets  in  the  air. 
Seen  from  afar,  like  some  stronghold 
liuilt  by  the  ocean-kings  of  old ; 
And  faint  as  smoke-wreatlis  white  and  thin 
Swells  in  the  north  vast  Katahdin ; 
And  wandering  from  its  marshy  feet 
The  broad  Penobscot  comes  to  meet 
And  mingle  with  its  own  bright  bay." 

A  thousand  feet  higher  than  the  Blue  Hills,  looming  over  Boston  Bay, 
twelve  hundred  feet  above  the  Navesink  Highlands,  and  greater  even  than 
Aspotogon,  the  crown  of  the  Nova-Scotian  coast,  this  vast  buttress  of 
Maine  swells  into  the  view  of  sailors  many  leagues  at  sea. 

Of  what  the  naturedoving  summer-visitor  may  discover  upon  and  about 
this  eastern  Atlantis  of  Mount  Desert,  the  tenth,  the  hundredth  part, 
cannot  be  told.  The  mountaineer,  the  trout-fisher,  the  hunter,  the  yachts- 
man, the  artist,  the  historian,  the  dreamer,  each  may  find  that  which  suits 
his  taste,  in  spite  of  the  dog-day  fogs  and  the  storms  from  the  Bay  of 
I'undy.  Year  by  year  increases  the  great  current  of  travel  which  sets 
toward  these  marine  highlands,  and  improves  the  conveniences  for  the 
journey  and  the  sojourn.  As  one  of  the  most  gifted  and  enthusiastic  of 
the  lovers  of  Mount  Desert  has  said,  to  come  hither  is  '*to  find  in  one  the 


44 


Picturesque  Maiue. 


Isles  of  Shoals  nnd  Wachiisett,  or  Nahant  and  Monadnock,  Newport  and 
the  Catskills." 

Near  the  head  of  Frenchman's  Bay  is  the  village  of  Sullivan,  mainly 
famous  for  its  granite,  of  which  large  quantities  are  exported,  and  for  the 
recent  discovery  of  silver  ore  among  its  hills,  which  caused  the  old  settle- 
ments along  these  shores  to  thrill  with  a  Nevada  excitement.  But  the 
chief  attraction  here  still  is  the  grand  view  of  Mount  Desert,  down 
Frenchman's  Bay,  and  the  stately  blue  highlands  of  the  adjacent  towns, 
as  seen  from  the  antique  bay-side  roads. 

To  the  eastward  of  Frenchman's  Bay,  the  nook-shotten  coast  is  less 
known  and  less  visited.  It  stretches  away  for  many  leagues  to  the  mouth 
of  the  Bay  of  Fundy  and  the  borders  of  the  Maritime  Provinces,  fringed 
by  scores  of  silent  promontories  and  hundreds  of  islands,  and  penetrated 
by  deep  and  navigable  fiords.  The  coasts  are  bold  and  rocky,  almost 
frowning,  and  here  and  there  a  small  white  hamlet  is  seen  among  the 
forest-covered  hills,  or  on  the  narrow  coves  within  the  iron-bound  wall. 
Machias  is  the  petty  metropolis  of  this  wild  strand,  and  is  notable  as  the 
town  which  steadily  voted  against  secession  from  Massachusetts,  during 
the  years  in  which  Maine  was  agitating  to  be  set  off.  Here  also  the  fiery 
French  partisan.  La  Tour,  destroyed  an  English  trading-post,  in  1634  ; 
and  in  1775  the  British  armed  vessel  Margarctta  was  captured  in  the 
harbor  by  the  townspeople. 

Beyond  these  memorable  shores  the  escarped  and  salty  wilderness 
trends  away  for  leagues,  to  where  the  easternmost  point  of  the  United 
States  makes  out,  at  Lubec,  fronting  the  stupendous  purple  cliffs  of 
Grand  Menan,  and  partly  enclosing  the  beautiful  nooks  and  island  pas- 
sages of  Passamaquoddy  Bay.  On  these  fair  waters  are  the  remote  vil- 
lages of  Eastport  and  Calais,  with  their  sister  New-Brunswick  towns,  and 
the  barbaric  homes  of  a  few  hundred  aborigines  ;  and  somewhat  inland 
are  the  bright  and  diversified  Schoodic  Lakes,  where  Indian  guides  lead 
to  the  best  of  fishing  and  the  haunts  of  the  land-locked  salmon,  shattering 
the  exquisite  crystal  of  the  water  with  the  paddles  of  their  bark  canoes. 

Lubec  is  the  last  feather  in  the  tip  of  the  left  wing  of  the  American 
Eagle,  but  the  domain  of  summer  pleasaunce  sweeps  still  further  afield, 
by  the  garden  shores  of  the  Annapolis  Basin,  and  the  mountains  which 
are  reflected  in  the  Basin  of  Minas,  to  the  distant  Gaelic  glens  which 
open  towards  the  Bras  d'Or,  amidst  the  highlands  of  Cape  Breton,  and  to 


Mount  Desert. 


45 


tlic  beaches  of  Rustico,  amonj;  the  simple  Acadian  folk  of  Prince 
lulward  Island.  Still  more  remote,  a  third  of  the  way  to  Europe,  the 
brumal  Newfoundlanders  ride  out  to  Portugal  Cove  and  Quiddy-Viddy 
Lake,  and  try  to  realize,  in  a  droll  provincial  way,  the  joys  of  Margate 
and  Killarney. 


MOOSEHEAD  LAKE 


OOSEHEAD  LAKE,  the  largest  of  Maine's  myriad  lakes, 
and  the  fairest,  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  scenes  in  all 
New  England,  so  varied  and  picturesque  are  its  four  hun- 
dred miles  of  shore-line,  so  graceful  and  richly  tinted  its 
bordering  mountains,  so  numerous  and  diversified  its  rocky 
islands.  The  topographer  will  say  that  the  lake  is  nearly 
a  thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  and  that  it  is  thirty-eight  miles  long,  and 
from  one  to  fourteen  miles  wide,  but  he  can  convey  no  idea  of  the  invigo- 
ration  and  the  refreshment  which  dwell  in  its  northern  winds,  perfumed 
by  whole  provinces  of  pine  and  spruce  trees,  and  drifting  over  many  a 
far-sequestered  bay  or  mimic  Baltic  Sea,  under  the  very  shadows  of  the 
ancient  mountains.  Here  is  the  cradle  of  the  Kennebec  River,  which 
flows  downward  thence,  by  many  an  ancient  town  and  quiet  hamlet,  to 
meet  the  distant  ocean.  The  annual  pilgrimage  of  summer-tourists  to 
this  grand  heart  of  the  wilderness  visibly  augments,  as  the  railroad  ap- 
proaches its  waters,  nearer  and  nearer  every  year.  A  stronger  army,  full 
twelve  hundred  most  stalwart  men,  passes  upward  through  this  region 
every  winter,  to  cut  the  lumber  in  the  remoter  forests,  and  to  prepare 
material  for  new  cities.  At  last,  also,  Ceres  and  Pomona  have  sought 
these  tranquil  shores,  and  here  and  there,  far  up  the  lake,  the  white  farm- 
houses glimmer  out  from  the  edge  of  the  forest,  and  narrow  fields  bear 
witness  to  the  pioneer's  plough.  When  bright  villages  dot  these  silent 
shores,  and  the  mellow  music  of  church-bells  floats  over  the  evening 
waters,  how  fair  shall  be  the  scene  and  how  peaceful ! 

Already  there  are  numerous  hotels  at  different  points,  two  at  Green- 
ville, two  at  the  head  of  the  lake,  one  at  the  outlet,  three  in  the  eastern- 
46 


MOUNT  KINEO,  from  r>iRCH  Point. 


Moosehead  Lake, 


47 


Ixiys,  and  one,  the  dean  of  the  faculty,  at  Mount  Kinco.  Sailboats  of 
various  ]:)atterns,  and  great  variety  of  smaller  craft,  navigate  the  waters  ; 
and  a  small  fleet  of  steamboats  finds  active  employment  there.  But  the 
native  loons  and  bears  have  not  yet  fled  to  the  absolute  seclusion  of  Alla- 
gash  Lake,  and  the  riparian  townships  remain  happily  unnamed. 

The  simplest  and  most  expeditious  way  to  get  to  Moosehead  Lake  is 
to  leave  Boston  at  seven  in  the  evening,  on  the  Eastern  Railroad,  break- 
fasting at  Bangor,  and  then  changing  to  a  train  which  reaches  Blanchard 
abf)ut  noon,  and  connects  with  a  stage  running  eleven  miles  north  to  the 
foot  of  the  lake.  As  the  train  ascends  the  Penobscot,  above  Bangor,  it 
passes  long  lines  of  lumber-booms  and  mills,  where  the  ligneous  products 
of  the  northern  wilderness  are  stored  and  handled.  At  Oldtown  (where 
the  home  of  the  remnant  of  the  Tarratine  Indians  is  seen  on  the  island 
in  the  river)  the  lakeward  train  diverges  up  the  valley  of  the  Piscataquis, 
and  traverses  a  series  of  thinly  populated  farming  towns,  over  which  the 
far-off  peak  of  Mount  Katahdin  glides  swiftly.  At  Blanchard,  vox  ct  prc- 
terca  iiiJiil,  the  hilly  road  begins  over  which  the  stages  carry  thousands  of 
travellers,  sometimes  too  weary  or  impatient  to  enjoy  the  views  of  hills 
and  highlands,  ponds  and  lakes,  as  the  horses  swing  merrily  down  the 
long  slopes  to  Greenville,  the  chief  port  on  the  northern  lakes,  and  the 
centre  of  logging  forays  and  supplies.  Lowell  saw  Greenville  as  ''a  little 
village  which  looks  as  if  it  had  dripped  doivn  from  the  hills,  and  settled 
in  the  hollow  at  the  foot  of  the  lake;"  and  Thoreau  found  it  "the  infant 
port  of  Greenville,  with  mountains  on  each  side,  and  a  steamer's  smoke- 
pipe  rising  over  a  roof." 

The  voyage  up  the  lake  by  steamboat  is  perhaps  a  little  disappointing, 
for  the  excpiisite  beauty  of  Lake  George  and  the  wayward  fascination  of 
Winnepesaukee  are  alike  lacking  in  this  stern  and  solemn  inland  sea. 
There  is  charming  scenery  to  be  found  in  the  bays  and  streams  which 
enter  on  every  side,  combined  with  high  blue  mountains  and  bric-a-brac 
islets;  with  no  small  attendance,  inharmonious  but  not  unwelcome,  of 
portly  trout,  not  to  speak  of  an  occasional  pair  of  moose  and  caribou, 
drinking  from  the  crystal  coves,  or  the  advent  of  Ursus  Amcruaims, 
attended  by  a  troop  of  droll  brown  cubs. 

The  course  of  the  bold  steamboat  leads  northward  through  skirmish- 
lines  of  fragmentary  islands,  until  Greenville  fades  unregretted  from  the 
sicdit  and  the  Squaw  Mountains,  virile  and  sturdy  despite  their  title,  rise 


48 


Picturesque  Maine. 


on  the  port  bow,  as  the  white  wake  of  the  paddle-wheels  swirls  across 
wider  and  widening  reaches.  On  the  right,  but  so  hidden  as  to  be  visible 
only  to  the  eye  of  faith,  is  Lilly  Bay,  a  delicious  alcove  of  several  miles 
area,  which  enjoys,  all  to  itself,  an  archipelago,  a  mountain-range,  and  a 
hotel,  with  easy  access  to  the  forest-bound  Roach  Ponds,  abounding  in 
trout,  and  dowered  with  a  farmhouse-tavern.  The  next  episode  of  the 
journey  leads  between  Deer  Island  and  Sugar  Island,  the  one  containing 
three  thousand  acres  and  a  summer-hotel,  the  other  seven  thousand  acres 
and  the  homes  of  myriads  of  nature's  feathered  and  furry  children. 
Emerging  from  the  strait  between  these  typical  microcosms,  the  laboring 
bark  enters  the  broadest  part  of  the  lake,  with  Mount  Kineo  far  in  ad- 
vance, and  the  Outlet  House  visible  on  the  left,  four  miles  away,  where 
the  Kennebec  trips  downward  over  a  long  and  formidable  dam.  Some 
leagues  off,  under  the  starboard  quarter,  is  Spencer  Bay,  a  deep,  broad, 
and  symmetrical  body  of  water,  daintily  enclosed  from  the  lake  by  two 
points  of  land  which  approach  an  islet  in  the  centre  of  the  narrows,  over- 
shadowed by  the  Spencer  Mountains,  more  than  four  thousand  feet  high, 
and  giving  outlet  to  the  lily-perfumed  waters  of  many  a  deer-haunted 
pond.  If  the  day  is  clear,  the  tremendous  cliffs  of  Mount  Katahdin  may 
be  seen,  forty  miles  to  the  eastward,  and  more  than  a  mile  above  the  sea- 
level.  Islands  and  inlets  galore,  famous  in  the  chronicles  of  Moosehead, 
pass  astern  one  by  one,  and  at  last  the  stanch  steamer  is  moored  at  the 
wharf  of  Mount  Kineo. 

More  than  half-way  up  the  lake,  and  nearly  closing  it,  a  peninsula 
projects  from  the  eastern  shore,  bearing  on  its  northern  part  the  tremen- 
dous and  cliff -bound  mass  of  hornblende,  2,150  feet  high,  called  Mount 
Kineo,  and  on  its  southern  half  the  brisfht  and  commodious  hotel  which 
serves  as  the  summer-capitol  for  all  this  region,  the  rendezvous  for  scores 
of  trusty  guides,  the  pharos  for  hundreds  of  birchen  gondolas,  the  Ge- 
henna of  myriads  of  luckless  fish.  Here,  at  last,  early  hours  and  flannel 
shirts  are  in  good  form  ;  and  sparkling  eyes  and  rosy  cheeks  have  no 
connection  with  belladonna  or  carmine.  The  copious  vegetable  supplies 
of  the  house  are  produced  on  the  peninsula,  where  beaches,  caverns, 
ledges  of  gold-quartz,  croquet-grounds,  Indian  wigwams,  and  the  inevita- 
ble base-ball  diamond,  crowd  for  the  possession  of  the  narrow  acres. 
And  in  all  directions  extend  the  watery  ways,  by  which  to  visit  many  a 
famous  islet,  pond,  or  bay,  rich  in  scenery  or  swarming  with  finny  game, 


MOXIK  FALLS. 


RIIHHIKNUS  FALLS  — L()()KiN(;  East. 


Moosehead  Lake. 


49 


whereon  books  have  been  written  in  cxtobnent ;  and  all  overlooked  by 
the  far-viewing  and  legend-haunted  crest  of  Mount  Kineo,  the  Salute 
dome  of  a  new  Waltonian  Venice.  To  my  mind,  nothing  in  all  the  vast 
Maine  woodlands  is  so  transcendently  beautiful  as  the  view  frorTi  Kineo, 
towards  sunset,  when  the  wide  and  silent  lake,  with  its  countless  jagged 
bays  and  tributary  ponds,  is  flushed  with  splendid  rosy  light,  enclosed  in 
a  setting  of  scores  of  leagues  of  dark  evergreenery,  and  reflecting  the 
stately  forms  of  many  lofty  mountains.  And  all  is  so  profoundly  silent  ! 
\<)  angclus  from  village  church-bell,  no  long-drawn  whistle  of  locomotive, 
no  shouts  of  home-bound  laborers,  break  the  prolonged  hush  which  rests 
on  all  the  wide  landscape. 

When  Thoreau  encamped  on  this  peninsula,  his  Indian  guide  beguiled 
the  evening  hours  by  singing  ancient  Latin  hymns,  which  the  French 
Jesuits  had  taught  his  ancestors  two  centuries  before;  and  Tahmunt,  the 
Tarratine  hunter,  told  him  that  the  lake  derived  its  name  from  the  rcsem- 
*l)lance  which  the  first  luiropean  visitors  found  or  fancied  between  the 
shape  of  Mount  Kineo  and  that  of  a  moose's  head.  The  primeval  abo- 
ri'dnal  name  of  the  lake  was  Sebamook,  of  similar  extraction  to  Sebec 
and  Sebago,  and  meaning  nothing  more  than  reservoir  or  pond.  Dr. 
Jackson,  the  State  Geologist  between  1830  and  1840,  says  that  the  horn- 
stone  hatchets  and  arrow-heads  of  most  of  the  New-England  Indians 
were  obtained  from  the  Kineo  cliffs. 

Lowell  is  a  good  judge  of  mountains,  having  turned  his  kindly  and 
inward-seeing  eyes  upon  every  famous  height  between  Beacon  Hill  and 
Soracte,  and  therefore  we  may  respect  his  admiration  of  these  ''deep-blue 
mountains,  of  remarkably  graceful  outline,  and  more  fortunate  than  com- 
mon in  their  names  ; "  and  derive  a  certain  reminiscential  comfort  in  his 
assertion  that  Mount  Kineo  and  Capri  resemble  each  other  in  shape. 

The  present  Mount-Kineo  House  is  about  six  years  old,  and  accommo- 
dates four  hundred  guests.  For  nearly  twenty  years,  however,  the  penin- 
sula has  been  a  favorite  resort  for  sportsmen,  who  find  ample  amusement 
and  hard  work  among  the  adjacent  coves  and  islands,  fishing  from  cranky 
bark  canoes,  or  creeping  through  the  remoter  woods  in  search  of  the 
moose,  the  bear,  or  the  caribou.  But  now  a  new  order  of  things  is  begin- 
ni.v  •  and  paths  are  made  plain  for  the  use  of  ladies,  of  whom  larger  and 
larger  numbers  come  hither  every  year,  howbeit  their  Saratoga  trunks 
appear  to  have  been  quarantined  at  the  railroad  terminus.    Here  they 


50 


Picturescpic  Maine. 


ramble  along  the  thousand  feet  of  Pebbly  Beach  ;  or  explore  the  dainty 
natural  fernery  of  the  Moody  Islands  ;  or  sail  under  the  Saguenay  cliffs  of 
Kineo ;  or  picnic  on  the  sentinel  islands  of  Cowan's  Cove ;  or  float 
dreamiV;  over  the  silvery  waters  of  Brassua  Lake, — very  contentedly,  and 
not  without  evoking  romantic  memories,  although  their  gondolier  is  a 
Yankee  Jonathan,  and  croons  Dr.  Watts  right  nasally,  instead  of  singing 
Tasso's  burning  lines.  The  Moosehead  guides  are  indeed  skilful  and 
trusty  men,  and  usually  earn  their  three  dollars  a  day  by  a  sufficiency  of 
hard  work. 

Semi-weekly,  a  stanch  steamboat  of  the  Moosehead  fleet  runs  up 
twenty  miles  from  the  Mount-Kineo  House,  through  the  wide  expanses  of 
the  North  Bay,  to  the  head  of  the  lake,  passing  here  and  there  a  clearing, 
and  viewing  the  environing  mountains  retrospectively.  The  two  deep 
bays  which  enter  the  plashy  lowlands  at  the  head  of  the  lake  lead  to  two 
portages,  the  one,  the  North-west  Carry,  giving  a  canoe-able  approach  to 
within  a  few  rods  of  the  Penobscot  waters  ;  and  the  other,  the  North-easC 
Carry,  provided  with  a  pier  which  makes  out  far  into  the  lake,  and  a  small 
hotel,  from  which  a  portage-road  leads  to  the  Penobscot  (West  Branch)  in 
two  miles — although  Lowell  said,  after  carrying  his  baggage  across,  My 
estimate  of  the  distance  is  eighteen  thousand  six  hundred  and  seventy-four 
miles  and  three-quarters."  Canoes  ascend  this  stream  from  the  North- 
west Portage  to  the  Forks,  a  distance  of  sixteen  miles,  in  ten  hours,  pass- 
ing but  two  houses,  on  the  ruins  of  the  Old  Canada  Road.  Influent 
streams  on  either  side  come  from  the  homes  of  the  moose  and  the  beaver, 
in  yet  unprofaned  sylvan  solitudes.  From  the  Forks  it  is  twenty-seven 
miles  —  several  days'  journey  —  to  Abacotnetic  Bog,  where  hundreds  of 
deer  and  caribou  are  in  undisturbed  possession  ;  and  a  carry  leads  thence 
to  Baker  Lake,  one  of  the  ultimate  sources  of  the  great  St.  John  River, 
and  two  days'  journey  from  the  Seven  Islands. 

Descending  the  river  from  the  North-east  Carry  lor  eighteen  miles, 
over  many  a  rushing  rapid,  the  canoeman  enters  the  long  and  narrow 
Chesuncook  Lake,  which  has  a  length  of  eighteen  miles,  with  an  extreme 
width  of  three,  being  hardly  more  than  a  bulge  in  the  Penobscot.  A 
small  village  of  farmers,  with  school-house  and  hotel,  stands  at  its  head, 
and  is  constantly  frowned  upon  by  the  great  peak  of  Katahdin,  monarch  of 
the  wilderness,  far  in  the  south-east.  A  road  leads  thence  to  Moosehead 
Lake  ;  another  to  the  exquisite  scenery  of  Caucomgomoc  Lake,  twelve 


Moose  head  Lake. 


51 


miles  north-west;  and  still  another  crosses  to  the  long  expanse  of  Cham- 
berlain Lake,  the  chief  lacustrine  reservoir  of  the  Allagash  River.  To  the 
northward  are  lakes  on  lakes,  rivers,  mountains,  woods,  and  nothing  else, 
for  scores  of  leagues,  with  a  numerous  antlered  population,  and  dense  colo- 
nies of  sahno  fontinalis,  but  no  human  residents,  almost  up  to  the  boreal 
shores  of  the  St.  Lawrence  River.  There  is  room  enough  and  game 
enough  for  the  whole  Abenaqui  tribe  ;  and  there  is  timber  enough  for  all  the 
ALanhattan  Hotels  and  Massachusetts  villages  of  the  future.  Slowly  does 
civilization  advance  upon  this  Black  Forest  of  New  England,  for  the 
]:)loughs  and  the  strong  arms  which  should  have  broken  its  soil  have  found 
a  comparative  Sybaris  beyond  the  Mississippi ;  and  now  the  feeble  skir- 
mish-lines which  halt  before  its  dark  fastnesses  are  composed  of  the  con- 
servative Swedes  of  Aroostook,  and  the  sluggish  Acadians  of  Madawaska. 
The  great  Aroostook  region  is  beyond  the  forest,  and  contains  un- 
•  counted  miles  of  rich  and  arable  virgin  soil,  producing  remarkable  crops, 
and  adequate  to  the  support  of  a  great  population.  Fifty  years  hence, 
these  remote  counties  will  be  the  garden  of  Maine,  dotted  with  prosperous 
villages,  and  contributing  appreciably  to  the  wealth  and  power  of  the 
State.  Cirain,  grasses,  and  potatoes  flourish  on  the  alluvial  limestone  soil, 
and  abundantly  reward  the  labors  of  the  farmers.  This  is  the  sole  rural 
district  of  New  England  into  which  immigration  is  now  moving  with  a 
l)erceptible  current.  The  only  railroad  route  is  eastward  from  Bangor  to 
McAdam  Junction,  and  thence  northward  on  the  New  Brunswick  and 
Canada  Railway,  through  the  western  counties  of  New  Brunswick.  In 
order  to  avoid  the  ignominy  of  getting  to  her  garden  by  passing  through 
foreign  lands,  Maine  should  either  build  a  new  railroad  to  Aroostook,  or 
annex  the  border  counties  of  New  Brunswick.  It  would  probably  be 
easier  to  construct  the  nulroad. 

Mount  Katahdin,  the  loftiest  peak  in  Maine,  lies  between  the  East 
Branch  and  West  Branch  of  the  Penobscot,  and  attains  a  height  of  5,385 
feet.  So  far  does  it  lie  from  all  haunts  or  tracks  of  men  that  it  is  but 
rarely  visited  ;  although  the  tall  blue  mountain  is  conspicuous  for  many  a 
league  in  all  directions,  and  even  from  Mount  Desert  and  Mount  Wash- 
ingU)n.  The  usual  route  to  the  summit  is  by  a  rude  path  from  near  the 
confluence  of  the  West  Branch  and  Sandy  Stream,  below  Chesuncook 
Lake,  and  the  ascent  may  be  made  in  a  day  ;  though  more  direct  travellers 
ride  in  from  Mattawamkeag  to  Sherman  Village  and  Katahdhi  Lake,  fifty 


52 


Picturesque  M a iue. 


miles,  and  thence  ascend  the  wildest  and  most  formidable  side,  tramping 
for  eight  or  ten  miles. 

Above  the  slides  which  scar  the  slopes  of  Katahdin  is  a  long  and 
mossy  plateau,  from  which  rise  the  two  peaks,  joined  by  a  narrow  and 
perilous  coly  one  of  whose  sides  is  a  perpendicular  cliff,  hundreds  of  feet 
high.  The  architecture  of  this  lofty  crest  is  peculiar  and  sublime,  espe- 
cially where  its  escarped  precipices  look  down  into  deep  gulfs  below, 
dotted  with  dark  ponds,  and  filled  with  crinkling  ridges.  Along  the  pla- 
teau and  up  the  steep  peaks  no  trees  grow  ;  but  rocks  abound,  gray  and 
time-worn,  and  thick  clouds  have  their  favorite  habitation.  Five  hundred 
lakes  are  visible  from  this  lofty  watch-tower,  scattered  in  all  directions 
upon  the  apparent  greensward  of  the  low-lying  forest,  and  resembling,  as 
one  has  remarked,  a  mirror  broken  into  a  thousand  fragments,  and  widely 
scattered  over  the  grass,  reflecting  the  full  blaze  of  the  sun.  On  one  side 
is  the  charming  diversity  of  Moosehead  Lake,  fringed  with  mountains, 
and  the  unbroken  silvery  expanse  of  Chesuncook ;  on  the  other  is  the 
archipelago  of  Millinokett  Lake,  whose  chief  glory  is  that  it  reflects  the 
image  of  Katahdin  ;  and  many  another  forest-tarn  and  highland-pond, 
famous  in  the  annals  of  piscatorial  enterprises,  and  bearing  names  as  long 
and  resonant  as  ever  aboriginal  explorer  inflicted  on  modern  type-setter. 
The  prospect  is  redeemed  from  gloom  and  monotony  by  these  bright 
silvery  lights  alone  ;  for  the  white  village-spire,  the  quilted  farm-clearing, 
the  aligned  buildings  of  the  hamlet  roads,  are  alike  invisible,  and  the 
green  tide  seems  to  have  overflowed  the  whole  world.  Millinokett  Lake, 
that  exquisite  gem  of  the  forest,  is  over  five  miles  long,  and  nearly  as 
wide,  and  contains  scores  of  wooded  islets,  on  whose  account  the  Indians 
gave  it  the  melodious  name  which  it  now  enjoys. 

It  is  a  little  over  ninety  miles  by  the  river  from  Chesuncook  Lake  to 
Mattawamkeag,  on  the  railroad  beyond  Bangor,  and  many  tourists  descend 
thither  in  canoes,  traversing  the  lakes  into  which  the  stream  broadens, 
and  passing  within  a  day's  march,  and  in  constant  sight,  of  great  Katah- 
din. From  Lake  Ambajejus  a  short  portage  leads  to  Millinokett  Lake, 
where  an  occasional  wandering  artist  spreads  his  canvas,  and  realizes 
Whittier's  poetic  vision  :  — 

"Where  the  crystal  Ambajejus 
Stretches  broad  and  clear, 
And  Millnokett's  pine-black  ridges 
Hide  the  browsing  deer. 


Lewiston, 


53 


Where,  through  clouds,  are  glimpses  given 

Of  Katahdin's  sides, — 
Rock  and  forest  piled  to  heaven, 

Torn  and  ploughed  by  slides." 


LEWISTON. 

Lewiston  is  one  of  those  modern  manufacturing  cities  in  which  the 
main  strength  of  New  England  rests,  resonant  with  the  hum  of  machinery, 
and  harnessing  the  great  rivers  into  the  service  of  civilization  and  luxury. 
Lines  of  tall  factories  are  drawn  up  along  the  canal  which  distributes  the 
power  of  the  river,  flowing  down  through  park-like  vistas,  and  overlooked 
by  the  tall  Gothic  tower  of  the  City  Hall.  Between  the  city  and  its 
neighboring  municipality.  Auburn,  are  the  high  falls  by  which  the  An- 
droscoggin descends  to  its  lower  levels,  leaping  downward,  white  and 
roaring,  with  some  remnants  of  its  far-away  White-Mountain  life  and  pas- 
sion. Even  now,  as  it  breaks  over  the  black  ledges,  full-voiced  and  revived 
by  rains  in  the  wilderness,  it  sometimes  recalls  the  weird  legend  which 
attached  to  it  many  years  ago.  It  was  ftirrated,  around  the  blazing 
hearths  of  the  valley  farmhouses,  that  about  the  time  of  Queen  Anne's 
War,  a  certain  man  from  the  coast-settlements  became  weary  of  civilized 
life,  and  burdened  with  deep  misanthropy,  insomuch  that  he  bade  farewell 
to  the  homes  of  his  people,  and  departed  into  the  forest,  alone.  After 
long  and  disconsolate  wandering  he  pitched  his  abode  on  one  of  the  islets 
above  these  falls,  and  longtime  dwelt  there,  supplying  his  simple  wants 
from  the  abundance  of  forest  and  stream.  At  last  the  Indians,  who 
thronged  these  meadows,  felt  their  wonder  and  reverence  change  into 
fear  and  hatred,  and  laid  plans,  in  the  wigwams  of  the  powows,  to  kill  the 
mysterious  stranger,  detailing  fifty  of  their  bravest  warriors  to  drop 
down  the  river  by  night  and  land  near  his  camp-fire.  Somehow,  the 
venerable  hermit  became  aware  of  the  irttended  attack,  and  secretly 
extinguished  his  evening  embers,  and  kindled  a  new  fire  just  below  the 
falls.  ^  Silently  the  canoes  dropped  down  the  hurrying  stream:  the  way 
seemed  long,  but  the  current  was  swift,  and  the  light  ahead  lured  them 


54 


Picturesque  Maine. 


on,  until  suddenly  they  were  involved  in  the  rapids,  and  shot  arrow-like 
over  the  dark  cliffs  into  the  profound  gulf  below,  whence  not  one  of  the 
devoted  band  emerged: 

Through  the  fertile  and  diversified  plain,  between  the  sister-cities,  the 
placid  Androscoggin  still  flows,  the  outlet  of  the  remote  Rangeley  and 
Umbagog  Lakes,  and  of  streams  which  interlock  with  the  Connecticut 
and  the  Chaudiere.  After  descending  through  the  wildest  regions  of 
New  Hampshire,  and  veering  away  from  the  very  bases  of  the  White 
Mountains,  the  stream  winds  sinuously  through  Western  Maine,  with 
many  a  noble  fall,  and  through  a  long  curve  of  forest-townships,  where 
the  nineteenth  century  as  yet  advances  with  slow  and  hesitating  steps. 
Here,  among  the  swelling  limestone  ridges  and  blueberry-covered  moun- 
tains of  Rumford,  are  the  finest  falls  in  Maine,  where  the  great  Andros- 
coggin descends  a  hundred  and  sixty  feet,  in  a  succession  of  thunderous 
leaps,  over  bold  walls  of  granite.  The  natural  attractions  of  this  point 
would  make  of  it  a  second  Schaffhausen,  but  the  practical  Yankee  mind 
already  dreams  of  better  things,  in  respect  to  profit,  and  foresees  it  enjoy- 
ing the  revenues  and  sheltering  the  servile  populations  of  a  second 
Lowell.  The  Arcadia  which  surrounds  an  eligible  water-power  in  New 
England  must  become  a  minor  Birmingham,  and  the  Oreads  give  place  to 
the  mill-girls. 

The  celebrated  Poland  Spring  is  a  few  miles  west  of  Lewiston,  and 
four  miles  from  Lewiston  Junction,  on  the  Grand  Trunk  Railway.  This 
fountain  of  healing  has  risen  to  great  prominence,  within  a  few  years, 
and  is  annually  visited  by  thousands  of  people,  from  all  parts  of  the 
Republic.  It  has  as  an  adjunct  a  great  hotel,  eight  hundred  feet  above 
the  sea,  and  commanding  a  view  which  extends  even  to  the  White  Moun- 
tains, and  includes  lakes,  cities,  forests,  and  a  measureless  open  country. 
Even  if  the  complicated  alkaline  silicated  water,  with  its  various  car- 
bonates and  chlorides,  fails  to  reach  the  disordered  system,  the  pure  air 
of  the  Poland  heights,  the  peacefulness  of  the  surrounding  country,  and 
the  inspiration  of  the  broad  views,  must  somehow  bring  healing,  at  least 
to  a  mind  diseased. 


IVinthrop  Pond. 


55 


WINTHROP  POND. 


The  town-house  of  Winthrop,  the  forum  of  the  local  conscript  fathers, 
stands  on  a  height  which  looks  afar  over  placid  farm-lands  and  peaceful 
straths,  and  commands  the  blue  hills  of  Dixmont,  far  over  towards  the 
Penobscot  ;  while  from  the  neighboring  summit  of  Mount  Pisgah  one  can 
look  out  across  a  region  which  is,  on  the  whole,  fairer  than  the  Canaan 
which  Moses  surveyed,  and  is  terminated  by  the  dim  lines  of  the  White 
Mountains.     The  village  stands  on  a  narrow  strip  between  Lake  Anna- 
besacook,  which  extends  far  to  the  south,  and  contains  a  secluded  island 
on  which  many  Indian  remains  have  been  found,  and  Lake  Maranacook 
("  Deer  Place  ")  with  its  groups  f)f  islets  and  its  banks  dotted  with  white 
farmhouses  and  hamlets.    The  railroad  between  Lewiston  and  Waterville 
runs  along  the  shores  of  these  waters,  and  crosses  Maranacook  on  a  long 
bridge,  from  which  very  pleasing  views  are  obtained,  including  not  only 
the  placid  bosom  of  the  silver  lake,  but  also  the  embowered  hamlet  of 
Readfield  Corner  and  the  distant  heights  of  Kent's  Hill,  crowned  by  the 
buildings  of  the  famous  Maine  Wesleyan  Seminary  and  PY^-nale  College. 
Winthrop  has   nine   ponds  within   her  boundaries,  wherein  black  bass, 
pickerel,  and  i)erch  abound,  and  on  whose  shores  such  numerous  relics  of 
the  Indians  are  found  as  to  prove  that  these  were  favorite  resorts  of  the 
vanished  races. 

Not  far  to  the  eastward,  in  a  picturesque  region  of  rolling  hills  and 
arable  fields,  lies  the  Cobbos.see  Contee  Pond,  a  beautiful  sheet  of  water 
one  mile  wide  and  nine  miles  long.  The  grassy  pastures  slope  gently 
down  to  its  placid  margin,  and  here  and  there  groves  of  cedar  and  red 
o  ik  are  reflected  in  the  still  bosom  of  the  highland  waters.  Scores  of 
islets  <^em  the  surface  of  the  pond,  forming  the  fairest  combinations 
of  scenerv  ;  and  its  seclusion  from  great  routes  of  travel  adds  to  the  rural 
charm  and  intensifies  the  deep  repose  of  midland  nature.  Hither  often 
rode  the  venerable  and  benevolent  Benjamin  Vaughan,  who  was  born  on 
the  islaml  of  Jamaica,  and  became  a  leader  of  the  Whig  party  m  the 
Hnt.sh  Parliament,  but  emigrated  to  Hallowell  in  1796  and  was  kno... 
as  "  the  rural  Socrates."  During  the  forty  years  of  his  life  at  Hallowell, 
he  was  visited  bv  nianv  cnnnent  scholars  and  philanthropists,  and  his 


56 


Picturesque  Maijte. 


custom  was  to  ride  with  them  to  the  Winthrop  Ponds,  whose  scenery  he 
declared  to  be  the  most  interesting  in  New  England. 

A  few  miles  to  the  northward  are  the  contiguous  rural  towns  of  Rome, 
Belgrade,  and  Vienna,  whose  Campagna  and  Prater  are  filled  with  sinuous 
and  picturesque  lakes,  sweeping  in  countless  curves  and  bays  among  the 
grassy  highlands,  and  giving  a  rare  beauty  to  the  landscape.  The  summer 
guests  at  Waterville  take  great  delight  in  driving  about  the  shores  of 
these  calm  inland  waters,  and  through  the  peaceful  rural  neighborhoods 
adjoining. 


THE  RANGELEY  LAKES. 


N  a  lofty  plateau  in  North-western  Maine,  high  up  toward 
the  Canada  line,  surrounded  by  leagues  of  woodlands,  sleep 
the  calm  and  crystalline  waters  of  the  Rangeley  Lakes,  the 
favorite  and  best-beloved  summer-home  of  thousands  of 
American  sportsmen.  Here  the  gamiest  of  fish  invite 
attack,  and  test  the  nerve  and  skill  of  the  disciples  of 
Izaak  Walton,  the  while  insidiously  ruining  their  instinct  for  veracity. 
Along  the  shores  and  among  the  solemn  aisles  of  the  neighboring  forests 
is  a  great  variety  of  warm-blooded  game,  from  the  chattering  squirrels, 
children  of  Adjidaumo,  and  the  clanging  wild  ducks,  the  Shuh-shuh-gah, 
up  to  the  graceful  deer  and  the  stately  moose,  the  lord  of  the  northern 
wilderness.  On  all  sides  silvery  lanes  of  mountain-water  debouch  into  the 
lakes,  flowing  out  from  long  leafy  labyrinths,  and  fed  by  secluded  and 
delicious  tarns,  amid  whose  bowery  shores  Amaryllis  indeed  might  have 
found  a  happy  home.  In  the  deep  pools  below,  so  clear  that  the  air  above 
seems  heavy  in  comparison,  dwell  the  patricians  of  the  salmo  fontinalis 
family,  nervous,  wary,  lissome  fellows,  quick  to  the  well-hidden  hook, 
invincible  to  the  novice,  but  affording  to  the  experienced  angler  the  most 
exciting  and  successful  sport,  and  giving  sweet  solace  to  the  palate  of  the 
victor,  rewarding  him  as  Mondamin  did  the  weary  Hiawatha.  Here  the 
fisherman  finds  the  keenest  and  most  satisfactory  enjoyment,  meeting  foes 
to  the  full  worthy  of  all  his  powers  ;  and  gathering  those  experiences 
which,  when  magnified  with  the  usual  Waltonian  hyperbole,  serve  to 
amuse  and  not  instruct  the  knights  of  the  evening  camp-fire.  Although 
these  lakes  cover  but  seventy-seven  square  miles  in  the  aggregate,  they 
are  larger  than  Ontario  and  Erie  on  the  horizon  of  their  admirers,  who 

57 


58 


Pidwesque  Maine. 


return  to  these  sequestered  shores,  year  after  year,  with  the  same  high 
anticipations  and  happy  memories. 

The  trout  which  have  given  celebrity  to  the  Rangeley  Lakes  are  very 
large  and  vigorous,  and  sometimes  exceed  eight  pounds  in  weight.  Pro- 
fessor Agassiz  maintained,  in  the  face  of  opposing  appearances,  that  they 
are  of  the  same  species  as  the  ordinary  brook-trout.  Their  average  weight 
is  somewhat  more  than  one  pound. 

The  altitude  of  the  lakes  is  very  considerable,  and  lifts  the  camps  of 
the  anglers  and  gunners  into  the  region  of  coolness  and  balmy  air. 
Rangeley  Lake,  the  uppermost  of  the  series,  is  more  than  fifteen  hundred 
feet  above  the  sea.  The  others  fall  away  to  the  westward  like  Titanic 
steps  ;  and  the  level  of  Umbagog  is  fully  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet  lower 
than  that  of  Rangeley. 

The  amazing  sesquipedalian  names  of  the  lakes  are  not  the  least  of 
their  charms,  and  give  them  an  aboriginal  flavor  from  the  outset,  besides 
affording  a  constant  exercise  to  the  vocal  organs  of  visitors.  "  Doubters 
may  smile  and  smile  at  these  names,"  says  Winthrop  ;  "but  they  are 
geography."  And  indeed  they  are  short  and  crisp,  —  monosyllabic,  as  it 
were,  —  in  comparison  with  certain  others  which  might  be  mentioned, 
even  amid  the  ancient  civilization  of  Massachusetts. 

The  eastern  route  to  the  Rangeleys  leads  from  Portland  to  Farmington 
in  about  five  hours,  over  the  Maine  Central  Railway,  through  the  rural 
towns  of  Cumberland  County,  and  up  the  long  Androscoggin  Valley,  a 
region  distinguished  by  the  Lidians  as  Rockomcka,  the  Great  Corn  Land, 
and  now  famous  for  its  fine  cattle.  A  noble  race  of  men  also  is  indige- 
nous to  these  rolling  hills  and  fertile  valleys  ;  for  here  Gen.  O.  O.  How- 
ard, the  American  Havelock,  was  born,  and  in  Livermore  the  famous 
Washburne  family,  so  prominent  in  the  West,  first  saw  the  light. 


FARMINGTON. 

High  on  a  hill  over  the  valley  of  Sandy  River,  stands  this  pleasant 
village,  the  metropolis  of  North-western  Maine.  The  streets  are  over- 
arched by  long  double  lines  of  sugar-maples,  and  other  trees,  bearing 


Farming  ton. 


59 


witness  to  the  good  tcistc  of  the  citizens  and  the  antiquity  of  the  settle- 
ment ;  while  half  a  dozen  churches,  three  well-known  academies,  and  the 
grim  county  buildings  of  Franklin  County,  are  the  tall  hieroglyphs 
which  mark  various  phases  of  modern  civilization.  In  the  environs  is  the 
Little  1^1  ue  School  for  boys,  appropriately  occupying  the  picturesque 
house  and  estate  where  Jacob  Abbott  lived  when  he  wrote  the  famous 
"  Rollo  "  books,  those  charming  classics  of  the  young  people  of  the  Tyler- 
Harriso!!  epoch. 

For  many  years,  perhaps  centuries,  the  Canibas  Indians  occupied  the 
fertile  intervale  at  Farmington,  and  raised  their  wigwams  and  tilled  their 
grain-fields  bv  the  side  of  Sandy  River.  In  that  famous  year,  1776,  the 
first  white  men  entt.'red  this  region,  and  straightway  seized  the  cultivated 
meadows,  and  reared  their  log-houses,  laying  the  foundations  of  the  pleas- 
ant village  of  to-day  on  the  ruins  of  the  aboriginal  capital. 

A  singular  little  narrow-gauge  railroad,  newly  built  and  equipped,  runs 
from  Farmington  to  Phillips,  about  eighteen  miles  up  the  Sandy-River 
Vallev,  i)assing  several  quaint  and  preternaturally  quiet  hamlets  among 
the  hills,  and  awakening  unaccustorged  echoes  from  the  venerable  forests. 
Phillips  is  a  pleasant  and  peaceful  village,  giving  very  good  accommodations 
to  the  summer-sojourner,  at  the  new  P^lmwood  Hotel,  a  spacious  first-class 
house,  and  at  a  comfortable  old  inn,  the  liarden  House.  With  its  environ- 
ment of  very  lofty  and  stately  mountains,  and  its  rich  and  picturesque 
surroundings,  this  ])lace  is  rapidly  gaining  prominence  as  a  quiet  summer- 
resort,  from  which  charming  drives  may  be  taken  in  all  directions.  The 
famous  Kennebec  Peaks,  Saddleback,  Mount  Abraham,  and  Mount  Blue, 
are  near  bv,  and  easily  accessible  ;  and  from  their  summits  unfold  pros- 
pects of  most  conspicuous  beauty  and  extent,  including  Mount  Desert  on 
one  side  and  the  White  Mountains  on  the  other.  There  are  several  locali- 
ties in  the  neighborhood  where  trout  are  found  in  great  numbers  ;  and  bits 
of  scenerv  here  and  there  through  the  valley  attract  the  attention  of  the 
lover  of  nature.  The  stage-ride  from  Phillips  to  Rangeley  Lake  is  full  of 
exhilaration  and  interest,  and  the  eighteen  miles  of  road  are  traversed  in 
four  hours.  The  rude  county  highway  coquets  with  Sandy  River  for 
nearly  tlie  entire  distance,  now  broadening  into  a  petty  plaza,  in  the  ham- 
let of  Madrid,  and  then  creeping  sinuously  over  the  spurs  of  Mount 
Saddleback,  overlooking  the  valley  for  many  leagues,  and  the  high  ranges 
which   rise  on  every  side.    The  stage  bowls  downward  011  the  further 


6o 


Picturesque  Maine. 


slope,  between  the  ponds  in  which  Sandy  River  and  the  Androscoggin 
take  rise,  to  flow  so  far  apart ;  and  at  last  approaches  the  navigable 
Rangeley  waters,  near  the  hotel  at  Greenvale. 


RANGELEY  LAKE. 

More  than  fifteen  hundred  feet  above  the  sea,  and  covering  an  area 
of  fourteen  square  miles,  stands  this  beautiful  sheet  of  water,  about  whose 
shores,  alone  of  all  the  Rangeley  Lakes,  the  stir  of  civilization  is  beginning 
to  be  heard.  Nearly  seventy  years  ago,  sturdy  Deacon  Hoar  reversed  the 
accustomed  march  of  Empire,  and  left  Leominster,  in  central  Massachu- 
setts, to  seek  a  home  in  this  savage  solitude.  From  the  hamlet  of  Phillips 
he  advanced  four  days'  march  into  the  wilderness,  dragging  all  his  family 
goods  and  furniture,  and  two  babies,  on  a  rude  hand-sled,  while  Mrs.  Hoar 
and  five  other  children  followed  on  foot.  A  few  years  after  this,  a  sturdy 
English  squire  named  Rangeley  bought  all  the  land  in  this  region,  and 
dwelt  for  fifteen  years  near  the  lake  which  bears  his  name,  ruling  the 
domain  with  a  mild  patriarchal  feudalism,  and  ultimately  seeking  more 
complete  seclusion  among  the  wild  and  Cherokee-haunted  mountains  of 
North  Carolina.  It  is  perhaps  due  to  his  efforts  that  the  northern  shores 
of  the  lake  now  produce  a  famous  breed  of  horses,  which  have  borne 
away  many  a  prize  at  the  fairs  and  races  of  lowland  Maine. 

At  Greenvale,  the  head  of  the  lake,  is  a  hotel  and  wharf ;  at  Rangeley 
City,  the  end  of  the  stage-route,  are  two  hotels,  besides  mills  and  shops  ; 
and  near  the  outlet  is  the  Mountain-View  House,  hard  by  Camp  Kenne- 
bago,  and  facing  the  long  slopes  of  Bald  Mountain.  The  famous  Indian 
Rock  is  below,  near  the  snug  camps  of  the.Oquossuc  Angling  Association, 
whose  wealthy  New-York  members  have  laid  out  over  twenty  thousand 
dollars  in  improvements  at  this  point.  Boston  parties  (a  term  which  has 
mystic  and  forceful  meaning  here,  as  it  has  in  Colorado  and  Florida,  and 
begins  to  have  in  Sonora  and  Chihuahua)  have  lately  bought  an  island 
well  out  in  the  lake  for  their  demesne,  and  may  perchance  enjoy  the  local 
flavor  of  their  insularity,  geographically  as  well  as  ethically. 

The  south  and  west  shores  of  Rangeley  are  still  wildly  solitary  and 


Kennebago  and  Citpsuptic.  6i 

ruL;<j;-ccl,  and  rich  in  quaint  and  almost  grand  scenery.  But  the  favorite 
scene  which  visitors  to  this  region  desire  is  the  quiet  pool  in  which  the 
vivid  colors  of  the  trout  are  gleaming,  and  this  is  found  near  every 
shore.  As  the  steamer,  the  Mollychunkamunk,  runs  down  the  lake, 
many  a  quiet  cove  is  seen  on  either  side,  where  the  speckled  treasure 
awaits  the  beguiling  of  the  New-York  and  London  flies. 


KENNEBAGO  LAKE. 

A  NARROW  trail  leads  northward  from  Rangeley,  fourteen  miles  into 
the  wilderness,  to  Kennebago  Luke,  which  is  five  miles  long  and  two 
miles  broad,  luibroken  by  islands,  and  enwalled  by  ranges  of  bold  high- 
lands. No  dam  has  been  erected  here,  and  so  the  surrounding  forests 
have  escaped  the  poisonous  soaking  of  back-water,  so  pernicious  on  the 
other  lakes,  and  still  retain  their  origijial  vigor  and  luxuriance.  Two 
sportsmen's  camps  occupy  conspicuous  positions  on  far-projecting  points, 
and  command  \iews  of  the  blue  Kennebago  Mountains,  looming  over 
many  a  crystal-walled  colony  of  trout.  A  little  further  northward  are 
the  Seven  Ponds,  and  over  the  water-shed  heights  beyond  is  the  mournful 
valley  of  Dead  River,  along  whose  course,  a  century  ago,  Benedict  Arnold 
led  an  American  army,  to  dash  itself  to  i)ieces  on  the  embattled  walls  of 
Uuebec. 


CUPSUPTIC  LAKE. 

TiiK  fair  waters  of  this  highland  tarn  stretch  away  from  Indian  Rock 
to  the  westward,  dimpled  by  rugged  islands,  and  invaded  by  several  long 
promontories,  which  enclose  quiet  and  sequestered  coves  and  reaches  of 
sand-beach.  Cupsuptic  extends  nearly  two  leagues,  from  the  point  where 
its  own  influent  river  brings  down  a  silvery  tribute,  to  the  smooth  and 
navigable  strait  which  debouches  into  Lake  Mooselucmaguntic. 


62 


Picturesque  Maine. 


LAKE  MOOSELUCMAGUNTIC. 

The  "Great  Lake"  covers  an  area  of  twenty-one  square  miles,  and 
affords  broad  and  noble  vistas,  terminated  by  the  remote  and  stately  forms 
of  the  White  Mountains.  The  admiral  of  these  waters  is  the  tiny  steamer 
Oqnossoc,  which  plies  with  great  dignity  between  Indian  Rock  and  the 
Upper  Dam,  and  affronts  the  \  enerable  forests  with  a  whistle  like  a  boat- 
swain's call.  Here  and  there,  on  the  rocky  knolls  of  the  mainland,  or 
near  the  sandy  beaches  of  the  coves,  are  commodious  buildings  for  the 
entertainment  of  sportsmen,  still  preserving,  in  their  generic  name  of 
"camps,"  the  memory  of  earlier  and  less  elaborate  shelters.  Allerton 
Lodge,  near  the  echoing  shores  of  Bugle  Cove,  is  one  of  the  best  of 
these  summer-cantonments  ;  and  twelve  miles  to  the  south  is  a  still 
larger  establishment,  arranged  like  a  Hudson's  Bay  trading-post,  and 
dependent  on  the  myriads  of  fish  which  are  hatched  in  Bemis  Stream! 
Broad  prospects  open  across  the  placid  waters,  bounded  by  the  most 
])icturesque  of  highland  shores,  recalling  the  Trosachs,  and  reflecting  the 
pale  blue  crests  of  many  a  stately  and  unvisited  mountain-peak 


THE  UPPER  DAM. 

About  midway  of  the  rapid  stream  which  connects  Lake  Mooseluc- 
maguntic  and  Lake  Mollychunkamunk  is  a  vast  and  ponderous  rampart  of 
rock,  timber  and  iron,  whose  purpose  is  to  hold  back  the  waters  of  the 
upper  lakes,  controlling  the  supply  of  power  to  the  manufacturing  cities 
far  below,  and  also  reserving  means  for  floating  down  the  annual  rafts  of 
logs,  the  contributions  of  these  northern  forests  to  constructive  civiliza- 
tion. The  dam  is  fifteen  hundred  feet  long,  and  so  firmly  built  that  when 
the  sluices  are  closed  it  holds  the  water  of  the  lake  at  nearly  fifteen  feet 
above  the  natural  level.  In  June,  when  all  is  ready,  and  the  floating  tree- 
trunks  are  massed  above,  the  gates  are  opened,  and  lines  of  bateaux, 
manned  by  gigantic  lumbermen,  shoot  through  the  wild  and  boiling- 
rapids,  followed  by  myriads  of  logs,  which  sweep  downward  in  wild  con- 


Lake  Mollyclnmkamunk. 


63 


fusion  and  with  the  speed  of  the  wind.  More  than  two  million  dollars' 
worth  of  timber  has  thus  passed  through  the  gates  of  the  lake-country,  in 
a  single  year,  whirling  downward  through  Umbagog  and  along  the  An- 
droscoggin, hard  by  the  bases  of  the  White  Mountains,  to  its  ultimate 
destination  in  the  cities  of  the  seaboard. 

In  1877  the  water-power  company  of  Lewiston  purchased  the  dams  on 
these  lakes,  with  their  privileges  and  appurtenances,  for  the  sum  of  three 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars,  and  made  them  an  appanage  of  the 
cotton-factories,  scores  of  leagues  below.  In  like  manner,  even  fair  Win- 
nepesaukee,  the  Smile  of  the  Great  Spirit,  is  cribbed  and  confined  to  feed 
the  .mills  of  Lawrence  and  Lowell  ;  and  the  pellucid  waters  of  Lake 
George  arc  turned  to  utilitarian  uses  at  the  factories  of  Ticonderoga. 

The  buildings  near  the  dam  are  the  summer  homes  and  headquarters  of 
ardent  sportsmen,  who  pursue  their  fascinating  prey  among  the  waters  of 
the  adjacent  lakes,  dropping  their  dapper  town-made  flies  under  the  lee 
of  the  rocky  islets,  and  over  the  sunken  reefs  where  trout  increase  and 
grow  fearless.  Forest-trails  lead  inward  to  the  beautiful  Richardson 
Ponds,  embowered  in  sylvan  shade  and  dotted  with  mimic  archipelagoes, 
whose  shores  are  haunted  by  scores  of  timid  and  large-eyed  deer.  Here 
tlie  northern  Nimrods  push  out  in  canoes,  after  sunset,  with  blazing 
torches  in  the  bows,  and,  as  the  four-footed  denizens  of  the  solitude 
hurry  to  the  beach  to  look  upon  the  floating  flames,  make  them  pay  as 
dearly  for  tlieir  curiosity  as  did  Mother  Eve  and  the  wife  of  the  fugitive 
Lot.  Others  there  are,  strong-limbed  explorers,  who  penetrate  fo  the 
lonely  crest  of  Mount  Aziscohos,  and  look  down  upon  the  dark  Magal- 
loway  land,  and  southward  to  tlie  glimmering  peaks  of  the  White  Moun- 
tains. 


LAKE  MOLLYCHUNKAMUNK. 

How  daintily  tlic  airy  fancy  of  Theodore  Winthrop  played  with  this 
dcliciously  lone;  and  bewildering  name!  "Bewildered  Indian  we  deem 
it  -  transmogrified  somewhat  from  aboriginal  sound  by  the  fond  miag.- 
nation  of  some  lumberman,  finding  in  it  a  sweet  memorial  of  his  Mary 
far  away  in  the  kitchens  of  the  Kennebec,  his  Mary  so  rotund  of  bloom- 


64 


Picturesque  Maine, 


ing  cheek,  his  Molly  of  the  chunky  mug."  The  delightful  amusement 
of  hypothetical  etymology  could  surely  go  no  further  than  this,  even  with 
the  aid  of  Max  Miiller  or  Richard  Grant  White. 

The  lake  covers  an  area  of  ten  square  miles,  and  is  1,456  feet  above 
the  sea-level,  with  cold,  clear  waters  in  which  the  choicest  of  trout 
abound.  The  northern  part  forms  a  broad  and  beautiful  expanse,  bounded 
by  islands,  and  overlooked  by  distant  mountains  on  all  sides.  Here  the 
summer  idler,  from  the  blazing  cities  of  the  lowlands,  can  rest  and  eman- 
cipate himself  from  the  thralldom  of  civilization,  drifting  over  the  still 
waters  in  the  light  and  graceful  canoe,  or  dreamily  listening  to  the  rus- 
tling of  the  forest,  beyond  the  vague  light  of  the  evening  camp-fire.  The 
very  essence  of  beauty  in  solitude,  near  to  nature's  heart  of  hearts,  ap- 
pears in  the  prospect  from  Camp  Bellevue,  where  the  lake  is  a  bright  and 
silvery  foreground,  leading  the  eye  to  the  faraway  mountains,  blue, 
rugged,  and  en  wall  ing  the  whole  scene,  as  peaceful  as  if  it  were  the 
Happy  Valley  of  Rasselas,  transplanted  to  the  far  West. 

A  rocky  strait,  two  miles  long,  called  the  Narrows,  joins  Molly- 
chunkamunk  with  its  sister  lake  below,  and  permits  the  daily  passage  of 
one  of  the  pretty  little  steam-vessels  of  the  Rangeley  navy. 


LAKE  WELOKENEBACOOK. 

This  name,  worthy  of  the  genius  of  a  German  theologian  or  a  Greek 
dramatist,  belongs  to  one  of  the  fairest  of  the  Rangeley  lakes,  on  the 
lower  levels  of  the  great  forest  stairway  of  silver.  Many  a  bosky  islet 
rises  above  the  glimmering  waters,  where  the  wild  loon  agitates  the 
silence  by  his  weird  cries  ;  and  at  the  end  of  the  long  line  of  mountains 
which  stretches  to  the  southward  sparkles  the  snowy  crown  of  Mount 
Washington.  At  the  South  Arm  of  this  miniature  Windermere  is  a  little 
vv^harf,  where  the  stages  from  Andover  *  connect  with  the  steamer  which 
daily  makes  the  unperilous  passage  of  the  lower  lakes,  touching  at  the 
Middle  Dam  and  thence  venturing  into  the  remoter  navigable  waters  of 
Mollychunkamunk,  even  to  the  vicinity  of  the  great  Upper  Dam. 

The  Middle  Dam  is  one  of  the  colossal  valves  of  this  system  of  inland 


Lake  IVelokenebacook. 


65 


circulation,  and  stands  at  the  head  of  the  sparkling  Rapid  River.  Here 
arc  more  sportsmen's  camps,  where  the  enmiye  citizen  exchanges  brick 
and  brown  stone  for  the  worshipful  Gothic  architecture  of  the  Dryads,  and 
doffs  his  dyspepsia  and  his  broadcloth  in  favor  of  a  ravenous  appetite 
and  a  comfortable  shooting-suit.  A  road  leads  down  for  five  miles  to  the 
shore  of  Lake  Umbagog,  the  last  and  lowest  of  the  series,  where  the 
steamboat  runs  across  an  invisible  geographical  line  into  New  Hampshire, 
and  visits  Errol  Dam,  on  the  way  to  the  marvels  of  Dixville  Notch  and 
Connecticut  Lake.  Then  it  fares  southward  through  the  brown  water, 
to  Upton,  at  the  end  of  the  lake,  whence  daily  stages  run  through  the 
bristling  Grafton  Notch,  to  Bethel  and  the  north-eastern  gateway  to  the 
White  Mountains. 

The  visitor  to  the  summit  of  Mount  Washington  can  see,  far  in  the 
north,  and  depressed  in  a  great  bowl-like  valley  of  woods,  the  silvery 
shield  of  Lake  Umbagog,  overlooked  by  blue  Aziscohos,  and  flanked  by  . 
the  glittering  sheets  of  the  upper  Rangeley  Lakes.  So  also  the  bold 
navigator  on  Umbagog  may  see  the  high  peaks  of  the  Wliite  Mountains, 
very  far  away,  cutting  firmly  against  the  southern  sky  in  a  long  sierra  of 
vivid  azure.  The  dashing  Magalloway  River  meets  the  outlet  of  this 
lake,  flowing  downward  from  the  Canadian  frontier,  and  from  the  prime- 
val forests  about  Parmachene  Lake,  the  most  secluded  gem  of  western 
Maine,  yet  even  there  not  too  far  afield  for  the  Yankee  hotel-keeper  to 
rear  his  Dover  cliffs  of  painted  clapboards.  When  the  pioneer gentle- 
manly host"  came  to  this  point,  he  was  not  allowed  a  span  of  ground  on 
which  to  erect  his  hotel,  whereupon  he  constructed  a  large  raft,  and  upon 
tliat  an  inn,  wherewith  he  could  float,  rent-free,  over  the  eminent  domain 
of  the  lake,  while  his  guests  caught  trout  from  their  chamber-windows. 


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